


Songless Bard

by StixandManny



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Theft, Bad Flirting, Dramatics, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mute Jaskier, Negative/self-depreciating thoughts/feelings, The Witchers bard is more trouble than he's worth sometimes, but at least it's peaceful for a change, jaskier being jaskier, woman scorn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:47:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 43,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23155813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StixandManny/pseuds/StixandManny
Summary: Years ago Jaskier -in typical Jaskier fashion- unknowingly put his mouth somewhere it didn't belong and now the time has come to face the consequence. Messing with a witch is always a bad idea even if it's completely by accident and not at all your fault. Luckily for the bard he has a Witcher, and if anyone can help him with a vengeful sorceress surely it's Geralt of Rivia.
Comments: 37
Kudos: 80





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Will probably update on a weekly-ish basis.

After a week on the road with nothing but staling bread, foraged berries and the odd rabbit to eat, sleeping in the dirt and bathing in a cold lake or river if the location was deemed safe, a hot meal and room for the night was a welcome blessing for both of them. More for the bard who relished in the company of those around him than the Witcher who was more acclimatised to solitude, but even Witchers could use a good hearty stew and belly full of drink once in a while. Even Roach seemed pleased to be sheltered in the stables for a change, with a bucket full of oats and a couple off carrots.

Jaskier more than both his travel companions was glad to reach civilisation, he was in desperate need of a good hot meal, a nice warm bath filled with salts and oils and a reprieve for his poor aching feet. He was certain his blisters had blisters of their own from all the walking, honestly would it kill Geralt to share and let him have a turn on Roach. But most of all he was excited to share his songs and performance with a new audience, and engage in conversation where the other party gave more response than just grunts, curses or the odd two to four word sentence. There were days when even Roach seemed a better conversationalist than her master.

Needless to say the bard's mood had lifted significantly the moment they stepped into the small town only growing as they found it held both a tavern and an inn with stables. Renting a room and getting Roach set up and fed in the inn's stable had been their first order of business upon arrival, Geralt had then sugested looking for the local notice board for anything posted in his line of work. The sonneteer waving the idea off with a "Oh pish, there will be plenty of time for work tomorrow, right now the tavern is calling with its warm meals and refreshing drink within."

All thought of food immediately fled his mind however as his eyes roamed over the patrons gathered around the tables inside. There had to be two dozen at least, a rather impressive number for a Thursday? or is it Friday? evening crowed. His fingers were itching to fetch his lute from his back and strum her chords, his mind planning out which songs he'd play and what order as he made his way further into the room. Only snapping out of his musings when a strong hand griped him by the arm and dragged him to a table in one of the corners.

"Food first." Geralt ordered, herding him into the seat.

"Oh come on just one little ditty." Jaskier pouted, pulling the instrument over his shoulder so it wouldn't get squashed.

"No." The Witcher grunted, "Eat now, play later." Giving a firm order of "Stay." Before going to order said food.

He was up out of his seat lute in his hands the moment his plate was empty, with a quick warm up strum of her chords before setting into a long known popular jig to get his audience on side. Reviling in the crowds encouragement as he followed with an ode to the White Wolf, a ballad of love and a swift paced tale of danger and adventure. Something for everyone.

"Whoo! What a crowd, I think that was my best performance yet. So much energy tonight they were completely engaged, enamoured by my every word." Jaskier enthused energetically, arms stretched dramatically as he drew in the last of the dying cheers, as the bard dressed in the hues of sunset made his way back to the table in the corner Geralt was seated at. "I've never felt so pumped, so.. so alive! And more than a little frisky if we're being honest."

The face splitting grin on the bard's lips faltered a little as the Witcher rose from his seat with a grunt that clearly stated the younger had overshared. Ducking past the sonneteer and making his way to the tavern's counter to order another round of drinks, Jaskier put his hands on his hips sending the retreating Witcher a put upon look as he scoffed. "Oh... oh right, like you don't ever get in the mood. Don't think I didn't notice you sneak off into that leasure house in Oxenfurt that time and you practically turn all alpha in rut anytime Yennefer enters the same room as you. Oh, I've seen the way you look at her."

The glare he received as Geralt retook his seat and downed half a tankard of ale, had him swiftly raising his hands in surrender. "Look I'm just saying, a little rumpy pumpy might do you some good. Make you less broody for one." The look those golden eyes sent in reply was far from impressed. "No? Okay, fine, fine have it your way. Be a boring brute, enjoy your night of solitary brooding." He conceded with a wave, perking up again as his own cornflower blue's were drawn across the room.

"I on the other hand intend to make the most of this glorious night, current mood and inspiring crowd. There is an absolutely dazzling redhead over by the hearth that I think has been eyeing me off, I noticed her the moment we stepped through the door. Sure she looks a little work worn, very likely a farmer's daughter, but I think that just adds too her charm don't you. How do I look? More importantly how do I smell? I've not yet a chance to bathe." He rambled, leaving Geralt no room for answer despite his questions, as he gave his underarm a quick whiff. "...Not too bad considering. I think I'm going to try my luck. I should buy her a drink, what do you think, does she look like a woman of wine or ale? You're right I should just ask her, wouldn't want to buy her something she's no taste for."

He slicked his fringe across his forhead in its usual side-swept manner, looking over his shoulder at the Witcher with a goofy hopeful grin and a "Wish me luck." before starting across the room. Only making it a couple of steps before he spun back to his broody friend with a wink, "Oh, and Geralt, don't wait up." and with that he continued on his course across the room.

Jaskier wiped his palms on his jacket -they were feeling a little damp- as he strolled over to the fireplace, pretending his interest had lay in the varying adornments atop it. An carved cow horn and old decorative platter among other things, subtly glancing her way out of the corner of his eye to make sure she hadn't retreated. To his surprise it was she who stepped closer making the first move, speaking in a warm honeyed voice.

"I liked your performance, you have a very lovely voice." There was a soft smile on her face as he turned to face her, the flickering firelight making the freckles on her face stand out even more up close.

"Th-thank you." He stuttered out, a little caught off guard by the flattery. The response he'd gathered from the crowd tonight had definitely been a grand leap from the jeers, stale bread and odd rotting tomato he'd once received in taverns. "And you have very beautiful eyes, like pooling puddles after a late summers-"

In an instant the maiden's smile turned to a cringe. "Puddles."

He was loosing her.

"Yes-No! No, no n-not puddles, I-I'm... I'm not in any way saying your eyes are like... like mud." Jaskier floundered attempting to back track in panic. He let out a low drawn hiss and a wince at that rather pathetic failure, "Ooh, ah, yeah... that was, that was not at all like I'd played out in my head."

The little half giggle of amusement that escaped the redhead at his floundering however bolstered his enthusiasm granting him a second wind. "A second chance." He proposed, with a small hopeful smile. "If you'd grant me a second chance I'll buy you a drink and I promise upon my return I'll grace you with something far more poetic than puddles."

"Mettina Rosé." The female granted.

"Mettina Rosé coming right up." The bard sang with a flourished bow before heading for the counter.

Geralt watched as Jaskier crossed the room attempting to play it cool before devolving into a stuttering floundering mess. For some one who was so good with words when it came to his songs and poetry, he sure did a good job at butchering them when trying to flirt. How the young fool had managed to gain a reputation as a womaniser was beyond him, lest they perhaps took pitty on the bard or somehow found his stumbled flailing endearing. More likely that kicked puppy look he got whenever current company looked to be abandoning him. Either way, as cringed horror flash across the bard's face as Jaskier blabbered on about puddles and mud, Geralt turned his attention back to his drinks.

It was just too sad to watch.

The brightly dressed bard must have somehow found a way to spin things back in his favour however, as next time the Witcher looked over Jaskier was headed to the counter, a dopey excited grin on his face and sending a not so subtle thumbs up his way. Not really caring to hang around to see how thing's panned out for the poet, Geralt downed the last of his drink before standing. Planning to check the notice board for any monster contracts or interesting sounding posts, sometimes even warnings of strange howls in the night and mentions of missing sheep could lead to work. He'd check on Roach next before turning in for the night, maybe even make use of the bath.

* * *

_Hair red and fierce as the flames that set my heart alight, and dusted cheeks like a myriad of twinkling pinpricks in the dark velvet night._

A simple trip to the tavern's counter to fetch the maiden her drink, wedged between two burly, kind of sweaty men was all he needed it would seem, to come up with the line that had won his beauty over. A few drinks, a tale or two of Geralt and his latest exploits, a couple more expressions of adoration on his part and a kiss or two later and she was leading him out the tavern doors. Tumbling into the brisk night air in a fit off giggles as they clung to each other, he couldn't even remember what they were laughing at but in that moment he really didn't care.

"This way, this way." She corralled in giggled hushed tones as she dragged him down the practically silent street by the arm.

"Why are we whispering, there is no one around?" He snickered back in an equally hushed tone, besides the old man they had passed laying passed out drunk on the side of the road everybody else seemed to be either tucked up in bed or still in the tavern.

She just responded with a snort of laughter, odds were she didn't know either. He puased then, stopping suddenly in his tracks as he realised he didn't even know her name. The sudden halt sent the woman off balance and Jaskier swiftly caught her around the waist to steady her. "Sorry, sorry." He apologised, before going on to say. "It has just occurred to me that I failed to introduce myself properly when we first met and didn't even think to ask your name. Which- which is very incredibly rude on my part."

Giving a far less elegant imitation of the flourished bow he had graced the woman earlier that night, that very nearly sent him to the dirt in his current state, he gave his belated introduction. "Julian Alfred Pankratz, but you can call me Jas-"

"Jaskier I know." She cut him short, before announcing herself as "Mildra."

For a passing moment something in his mind thought perhaps he should find it odd that she already knew his name. He didn't announce himself before playing, a habit likely kept from back when more times than not tavern crowds turned on him. He was once quite good at uniting people of all walks of life into a heckling mob of jeers and boos. Perhaps his reputation was begining to precede him or Geralt may have said his name at one point, he couldn't quite recall. Not that it mattered though the thought was soon gone, pushed aside as the possible love of his life wrapped herself around his arm once more.

"Mildra," The bard repeated, "a beautiful name for a very beautiful lady."

Another giggle and gentle pull as the ginger beauty coerced him along, "There we are properly acquainted, now come." And just like that the two were staggering down the road again, past the inn and its stables, across the street then past a few more houses.

"Not... not that I've complaints, but may I ask where we're going?" Jaskier thought to ask after a particularly uneven patch in the road sent him stumbling to his knees, another pearl of laughter erupting between them as the sudden drop had Mildra toppling into his chest. She found her feet much quicker than he did, his own feeling as shaky as a new born faun as she planted a chase kiss to his lips before starting them on their way again. Almost knocking him off his feet again as she sharply turn down a narrow path between two buildings.

A little pushy.

"I probably should have asked if you have a husband or even a boyfriend for that matter. I was so distracted by your fiery hair and your captivating... cap -cap... everything that, that I didn't think to ask. Because if you do and.. and if we are headed back to your house I should probably inform you that I have had some rather very unfriendly encounters with husbands before. So... if there's any chance one migh- whoa!" Jaskier's rambling were soon cut off as Mildra flung herself at him, the force sending him staggering back into the wall with enough force to knock the air from his lungs as her lips crashed against his.

Okay, very pushy, but he liked it. She wasn't scary chase-you-around-the-room-with-her-breasts-out-and-threaten-to-cut-parts-off-your-body pushy like Geralt's sorceress friend. She was more fun and exciting pushy. Something tickled at the back of his mind at the familiarity, but he paid it no heed. It certainly wasn't the first time things had gotten a little wild during one of his romances.

He did however eventually have to untangle himself from her enough that he could pry her off of him when the need for air became too much. Taking a moment to regain his breath before distancing himself just enough that they were no longer a complete tangle as he regretfully panted out. "Wh.. while I enjoy... a.. a good tussle in the dirt as much as any other man, I was kind of hoping for a bed tonight."

As much as he'd love to keep going as they were he wasn't sure this was the place for it, they could be spotted should someone passing by and he'd really rather not be set upon and chased down by an angry father or jealous suitor. No, groping and other more energetic activities were better suited someplace a little less public.

The smile that split Mildra's lips then was equally playful and dangerous as she asked in a seductively husky tone. "Dare to be adventurous?"

Those words sobered him up a little as the tickle in his mind from earlier came back threefold and he distanced himself a little more -well as much as one can with a wall against their back- eyes narrowing in confusion. Almost certain he'd been here before. There was just something strikingly familiar about this that he just couldn't put his finger on. He'd not been to these parts before and as far as he could recall he'd never met Mildra before either, surely he could not forget a woman with such fiery hair. And yet he somehow felt as though he stepped into something he shouldn't.

"There is something itchingly familiar about all this, should.. should I know you?" He breathed out, just now realising how cloaked in shadow they were in the narrow nook they stood in.

"Jogging some memories are we?" The woman crooned, though the tone was far from gentle. "You should do. You stole something extremely valuable from me you weaselly little thief."

"Whoa, hey, hey now. I think you have the wrong bard." Jaskier tried to reason, sliding a step to the side to try and shift away from the woman. Mildra however mirrored his move keeping him caged, the bard gave a nervous chuckle as he insisted, "I've never stolen anything in my life, I swear it on both my lute and my life. Except maybe bread but it was previously paid for and then pelted at me so technically it's not- not really stealing at aaalll-ooh-my-god!" His voice pitched embarrassingly high, eyes growing wide as the red haired beauty's features shifted and moulded anew, freckles fading into flawless honey skin and her fiery hair darkening to thick hazel waves.

That definitely sobered him up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Romance isn't really my thing, so apologies in advance if this is a little cringe worthy.

"Y-you!" He pointed accusingly as the now familiar face brought with it the flood of memories that had been trying to free themselves.

_Tumbling through the door as a tangle of limbs he slammed into the wall behind him with a thud and an "oof", his side knocking into the corner of a shelf and knocking a few of it contents cluttering to the floor. Oh there would be bruises come morning. Mumbling out an apology between frenzied kisses, the hazel haired honey kept him pinned in place with her lips and roaming hands._

_"Not_ _important." She dismissed, grabbing him roughly by his cobalt brocade jacket and dragging him across the room before shoving him back onto the chase lounge and straddling his hips as she peppered him with kisses once more. Jaskier was left breathless by the time the woman finished her assault, doublet cast haphazardly aside somewhere across the room and once neatly tucked shirt now a loose half undone mess. She leant back with a smile that was equal parts playful and dangerous as she asked. "Dare to be adventurous?"_

_"Depends milady, what did you have in mind?" He grinned, leaning forward to follow her lips only for her to retreat further as she climbed off him. Taking his arm and pulling him up off the cushions as she guided him towards what he could only assume to be her bedroom._

_It was indeed a bedroom and a rather large and extravagant one at that, with an oversized fourposter bed draped in silks and quite frankly more pillows than anyone could possibly put to use. He had half expected to find ropes or chains or something of the like given her words, instead he found lit candles lined the walls, shelves and tables. Luxurious rugs and furs blanketed the floor, something fragrant, sweet, musky and oddly soothing was burning in one corner, the depictions on the tapestries that decorated the wall however were a little unnerving. All in all the room did not at all look like it belonged to the tiny little shack off the path the sweet honeyed brunette had brought him home to._

_"I thought we might perhaps enjoy the company with a friend." She offered with a flutter of thick dark lashes as she toyed with the lace of his chemise. "She is a very pretty, buxom blonde I think you'll really like her, I know I do."_

_"Y-you want your friend to join, three of us?" Jaskier clarified, swallowing hard. That was certainly not a request he'd had bestowed upon him before. While he might have a little experience under his belt he'd never been with two women at once before._

_"Yes I want her to join us on the bed, the floor, perhaps even the desk, wherever the lust and passion of the night might take us." She supplies with a coy grin as she walked her finger up his chest, sliding her soft hand up his neck to caress his cheek. "Don't be nervous love, I'll give you plenty of guidance."_

_He couldn't deny he was curious and maybe just a little scared, but then he'd never let his nerves stop him from jumping headfirst into all sorts of foolish situations before. She really did seem eager and he didn't want to disappoint, so trying and half succeeding for confidence he said. "I suppose one can't know if they like something if they're too afraid to try it."_

_"Oh you will enjoy it very much I can promise you that." She whispered seductively in his ear. "You and me, she and I," The bard's eyes widened a little at that, his breath catching. "Me, you, her and her companion."_

_Wait there was a fourth now?_

_He was starting to feel he was getting in way over his head here. Going from two to three is one thing but jumping straight to four was a little too impulsive even for him. "Co-compan..." His stammered out words swiftly died on his lips, his jaw dropping as the mention blonde slipped from a curtained door across the room. Buxom indeed, with damp hair smelling of fresh soap and lavender and very much naked._

_"Would you rather us robed or undressed?" The blonde asked, eyes the same soft blue as Jaskier's own trailing over him and giving a wink before flitting back the the brunette beside him._

_"Robed, I think it best to start with at least a little covering." The brunette hummed in reply, clicking his mouth shut with a soft chuckle as she purred, "It's his first time with a group." He distantly felt the flush that crept across his cheeks but his mind was too distracted to register the embarrassment that probably should have come with it. He was really starting to question why this had seemed so daunting in the first place._

_And then the blonde retreated back to the bathroom, drawing back the curtain and incidentally revealing the equally undressed man who was exiting the tub inside and Jaskier's wide-eyed awe turned to horror. The man was old, like well into his fifties possibly even early sixties old, with a large crooked nose, pox scared skin and plump drooping jowls. Suddenly things were looking exceedingly less appealing._

_Stumbling back a couple steps as he floundered for words, "Oooonn the other hand, may-maybe... maybe I-I'm not quite as ready for this as I though." He panicked, voice pitching an octave or two higher. "Oh.. Oh wow, no, no thank you.. N-not that I judge, each to their own, I've no qualms with getting a little adventurous but I'm not sure this is my thing." Eyeing the spot where the curtain thankfully shielded his view of the man once more, "Or my type. P-perhaps I should come back when there is a little less company."_

_"Oh come now my sweet little bird, don't go getting cold feet on me just cause there's another man joining the party." She teased, hooking a finger in the waist band of his trousers to halt his retreat._

_Jaskier shook his head with a nervous chuckle as he tried to pry his pants free, keeping his tone as hushed as one could when it was practically squeaking, in the hopes the man in the next room wouldn't hear as he squawked out. "That really isn't the -he's old. Like fathered my father old... and hairy... in all the wrong places, and... and very, very, very, very not at all my type. At all."_

_"Hey, hey don't wimp out on me now, the night won't be the same without you my love." As enticing as the arms encircling him and trail of soft kisses along his jaw should have felt, right now it just felt confining. His eyes glued warily to the curtain covered door as the walls around him felt as though they were closing in. The image of the man was seared into his mind and he suddenly felt rather nauseous._

_"Jaskier, look at me." She ordered, hands each side of his face forcing his gaze back to her own mesmerising deep turquoise. There was something hypnotic about them that somehow left him feeling just a little calmer. "I'll take care of you, we'll take it slow. Trust me, I know it seems daunting at first but once we get going you'll be having so much fun all these nerves and hesitation you're feeling will just fade away."_

_"I-I don't know..."_

_"Shh," she silenced him with a kiss, "You said it yourself, you won't know till you try." She smirked, one hand slipping to rest over his rapidly beating heart. "If at any point you feel too uncomfortable, I'll take you some place more private, just the two of us. Promise."_

_He was stammering out a muted, "Yeah, O-Okay." Before he even realised what he was doing and she stepped back with a smile, "Tell you what, I've my own special brew I like to call warrior's courage, one sip and you'll have that confidence of yours right back. Trust me." a wink as she trailed her finger under his chin before moving to give a sharp slap to his butt. "Ill go fetch you some, be a good boy and wait right here."_

_Jaskier found himself nodding as she gracefully stalked from the room, through the decorative door next to the bathroom. Maybe she was right, maybe he should give it a try, it might not be so bad. Still this warrior's courage sounded very good, he could certainly use it. His eyes caught on the lone wineglass filled with a deep dark blend on a small ornate table scattered with dried herbs and small coloured decanters nearby. That would help too, nothing like a little alcohol to dampen the nerves. He practically downed the wine in one gulp, gagging as the taste caught up, vilely foul and bitter and... oh, there was definitely something rotten in that._

_He was trying to wipe the vile taste that clung to his tongue with the inside collar of his shirt when a raspy deep voice called from behind the curtain. "I saw your performance in the tavern the other night bard, I must say I was rather enthralled by your boyish looks and beautiful voice. I cannot wait to hear the songs you'll play on my instrument."_

_That had him gagging anew because, nope. No-no-no, no, nope not happening. Fuck that. He was not doing this, all the warrior's courage in the world would not be enough for... for that. It was suddenly feeling way too warm and dizzying, his was heart racing and stomach churning, and he legged it out of there as fast as his unsteady legs would take him. Not even daring waste time to find where his jacket had ended, she could keep it, he had others. Returning to his rented room at the tavern only long enough to fetch his lute before hightailing it out of town and as far away as possible._

"Again, I didn't steal anything, you crazy psycho." Jaskier continued to plead innocence, he'd taken nothing from her house. He tried to duck past once more but again she predicted the move. "Look, I'm sorry if my bailing on your-your strange orgy upset you. I was barely eighteen, if that, and had never done anything of the sort before, sorry if I lost my nerve. But if something was stolen I highly recommend looking into your other guests that night."

"The drink on the ornate table." The woman hissed.

"Wait that's what all this is about?" He asked, face scrunching in puzzlement, "The wine? If anything you should be thanking me, that was the most vile thing I've ever tasted in my life. I did you a great favour."

"That was a potion you imbecile. A very powerful, time consuming and incredibly difficult to brew potion with extremely rare ingredients. It took close to half a century to find everything I needed to brew it, only for some halfwit bard to drink it." She growled, and Jaskier felt himself shrinking back from her fury.

It didn't stop him opening his big mouth though, as he meekly supplied. "Well it was in a wineglass, how was I to know." In a flash the woman had a carved bone knife against his throat, startling a yelp from the bard as his eyes drew wider. "Oh-oh gods!"

"You took from me something irreplaceably valuable you little shit. But don't worry you have a very long time to regret what you've done, time borrower." Turquoise eyes flaring dangerously, and Jaskier found himself calling for the Witcher in a shaky panicked squeak, even though he knew logically Geralt wasn't nearby to save his hide this time. She pressed the blade deeper into his soft skin as she snarled out. "You took from me something irreplaceable, so in return I'll take what is most precious to you."

She didn't even give him time to scream as she drew the blade along his throat. The bite of the blade slicing his flesh and a vague swirl of light, the last things he registered as his world went back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sqare brackets [ ] represent written words.

Jaskier blinked his eyes open groggily with a groan as he slowly pushed himself up off the ground, wiping dirt encrusted drool from his cheek as sat himself up, lent back against the wall. His head was pounding and he was stiff and ached all over, though that could have been from sleeping face down in the dirt. Everything was a little foggy and he was starting to wonder just how much he'd had to drink last night, when the phantom feeling of a blade slicing through his throat triggered the last hazy moments of his encounter.

His hands were instantly at his throat scrambling and searching for any sign of the wound he'd been certain she'd inflicted. Nothing, no blood, no wound, not even a scar... well none he could feel. His throat was a little dry and itchy but otherwise fine. He breathed out a sigh of relief, back of his head gently hitting the wall behind him with a thump. Of course there wasn't, he thought, he'd not be alive if she'd slit his throat. It had likely just been a warning meant to scare, if so it had definitely succeeded. Scared him so good he'd passed out -the alcohol had likely helped there- face down in the street and she had left him there.

His eyes sought out his lute then, thankfully finding her close by in the dirt. He reached out to snatch her up, searching for any damage that may have occurred with all last nights tripping and nose diving. A little dirt scuffed but otherwise fine, he let out another breath, at least the woman hadn't taken her. " _In return I'll take what is most precious to you._ " Her words rang in his head, not his lute then. Oh! Instrument forgotten he swiftly did a check elsewhere, emptying his lungs in relief as he cupped the crotch of his pants finding everything beneath still intact. "Phew, thank all that is wholly."

The words came out naught but a silent breath and Jaskier's face scrunched in confusion, "What?" again the word spoken was silent. His eyes shot wide as he clutched at his throat once more, breath comming in shorter and heart racing as panic started sinking in. "Oooohh no, nonono." this could't be real, his lips were moving but there was no sound. No voice. It couldn't be real, it couldn't be, he didn't want to believe it. He let out a shout loud and long enough to leave his throat a little rougher than it already was just to make sure, still nothing but a drawn airy breath.

She took it- no, she stole it! She stole his voice!

She stole it and now she was gone and he had no idea where, frantically scanning his surroundings for any trace of the woman and coming up empty. It was too dark, too early, the morning sun still but a faint golden sliver on the horizon. He could not see through the shadows, not that he had any idea what he was even looking for. Footprints perhaps, he'd never exactly tracked anything before, had no idea how. He had to find her, how would he find her? Geralt! The Witcher was a master tracker, if anyone could follow her trail it was him.

He needed Geralt.

So scooping his lute up once more to sling over his shoulder he rushed to get up. Feet scrabbling frantically in the dirt and tripping him up in his panicked haste to get up. Setting off at a sprint the moment he was on his feet and pausing at the main road once he got there only long enough to gain his bearings and spot the inn. Geralt was still sleeping when he pushed through the door to the room they were renting, he was actually surprised the other man wasn't woken by his rushed entrance. The Witcher was ususally such a light sleeper. He was on Geralt in a flash shaking the Witcher roughly by the shoulder.

Geralt snorted a huff of annoyance as he cracked open a single golden eye to peek at who was currently attempting to shake him out of bed. The bard, of course it was the bard, Jaskier must have just stumbled back from his latest lady-crush and now wanted the bed for himself. Well too bad, he could just move their crap from the other bed and use that one. Geralt shrugged him off with a grunt, it wasn't often he had a room for the night so on the occasions he did he liked to make the most of them.

The bard was soon jerking his shoulder again however, so rolling to face the nuisance he cracked his eyes open once more. "Hmm."

The poet was flailing about in a nonsensical manner as he continued to try and drag him from the bed, though the way he was clutching his throat was slight cause for concern. Worried that the other was hurt Geralt sat up, gripping the front of the bard's shirt to keep him still enough to pry his hand away. He was both relieved and annoyed to find no sign of harm or injury on the other's neck, besides a sliver of silver only visible when caught by the light. It was scarcely a scratch, no thicker than a strand of hair and certainly not worth the level of drama the sonneteer was playing up. So with his concerns out of the way Geralt shrugged himself free of the other again.

Huffing out a, "Jaskier, you're drunk." Before flopping back into his pillow.

Drunk, drunk. Jaskier was not drunk. Oh no, no, no, he was drunk but he was now very much sober.

He gave a sharp slap to the Witcher's shoulder in frustration, really, of all the times Geralt could choose to decide a sleep in was in order. Letting out a snort he stalked across the room to the other bed, tripping over the other man's swords that were lent against the small table in the middle. He hadn't meant to knock the swords, sending them cluttering to the floor, but at least the commotion had gain him the other's attention again if the growl that sounded as he dug through their belongings was anything to go by. Finding what he was searching for he snatched up his note book with a soundless shout of victory, caring little for the items that tumbled to the floor as he turned back to the Witcher as he scribbled down words in the book.

Geralt swallowed the erge to smack the other upside the head and toss him from the room as Jaskier knocked his swords to the floor before haphazardly tossing their other belongings about, in his search for whatever it was the pain-in-the-arse was looking for now. Jaskier's presence was annoyingly loud, which was nothing new, the young man could be quite clumsy at times and had a passion for dramatics, so tended to play up his actions. The lack of chatter coming from the other though that was unusual, normally Jaskier would either be muttering under his breath or openly beseeching his every lament at being brushed off and ignored.

So resigning himself to getting no more sleep this morning he sat up, watching the the younger man as he snatched up his note book. The concern he had chased off earlier slowy rising again at the bard's continued vocal silence. He vocalised a stern, "Watch it." as the poet's boot knocked his already toppled swords again on the way back, as the man focused on scribbling in his note book. No "sorry." for having kicked the weapons, not even a glance towards the Witcher or the blades them self to acknowledge what he'd done, too absorbed in his own writing.

Not looking up from his little book till he was done, scurrying across the remaining space and shoving the thing in Geralts nose. Whatever he'd written must have been important because in his impatience he kept waving the thing around, making it damn impossible to read. With a grunt of frustration, Geralt snatched the bard's wrist to still it, "Your damn scrawl is hard enough to make out without you waving it about." He grouched, the book finally still enough he had a chance to read it.

[Last night's redhead wasn't a redhead, she was someone completely different, we had a fling once, a few days maybe a week. It was years ago, I was young, she got scary, there was a failed orgy, it didn't work out. Not the point. Point is she thinks I stole her potion, I didn't know it was a potion it was in a wineglass. A wineglass! She had a knife and my voice, I think she's a witch or sorcerer or hexer or some magical voice stealing monster. She took my voice, Geralt! We have to find her, you have to find her, you can track her. SHE STOLE MY VOICE!]

That last line was underlined several times for effect.

The woman from last night took his voice? Geralt's brows pinched in question as he finished reading and looked up to the bard. Only for the other to snatch his hand back, pocketing his book as he once again turned to frantically trying to pull his friend out of bed. The Witcher gave in with a sigh, slipping his shirt and armour back on and grabbing his swords, the rest of their stuff would remain safe enough here as they still had the room for a couple of hours. Slipping his boots on before following as Jaskier raced out of their room, up the hall and down the stairs.

He was lead to a dark passageway nestled between two buildings not far from the inn, the sent of Jaskier's own earthy floral blend along with a hit of cinnamon and something distinctly spicey still lingered in the space. Hand prints and the scuffled mark of boots stood out easily in the dirt about a third of the way into the passage. A second smaller set of boot prints stood partly erased by the shuffle of the bard's boots and hands. A slightly damp patch, signalled where the young man must have lay, judging by the smear of dirt on his face, the other often drooled in his sleep. The frantic scuff of boots no doubt left in his haste to get to his feet and find help.

Jaskier tapped the wall by the disturbance in the dirt, leaning back against it and miming holding a blade to his own throat. Likely trying to inform him that the attack or voice-taking happened here, which he had already gathered. Geralt gave a "hmm" of acknowledgement and a single nod, before scanning further down the narrow path. Jaskier staying mostly out of the way and not trampling all over the tracks he was trying to locate for a change. He caught sight of the younger man wiping his palms down the front of his doublet from the corner of his eye, something the sonneteer did when nervous, as he tracked the woman's footsteps further into the shadows. The poet no doubt replaying last nights events in his head.

The tracks stopped dead about two feet from the far exit and Geralt stopped with it kneeling to closer investigate the dirt before standing once more with a sigh. Jaskier was at his heels, a look of confusion crossing his face as he sent a questioning look to the Witcher once her realised the man was no longer tracking the witch.

"She's gone." Geralt noted impassively.

The bard fumbled to pull his note pad from his jacket, but the irritated confusion on his face was clear indication of what he sought to voice. " _What do you mean gone? She can't be gone?_ "

"She summoned a portal, see how the dirt here was blown in every direction from the centre." Geralt pointed to the mark in the dirt he spoke of. The other was still just staring dumbly at him, so he further explained. "I can't track a sorceress's portal, it could have taken her anywhere, back to the tavern, wherever she currently resides or even halfway across Nilfgaard. She's gone, tracks end here."

She can't be gone. Obviously she could be, but being gone meant with her his voice too was gone. Like, Geralt can't just trace her to a nearby hut and threaten her to give his voice back, or kill her or whatever must be done and all is well and merry again by noon, gone. It means his voice was potentially gone-gone, as in never sing or speak again gone...

Jaskier almost doubled over, cornflower blue eyes wide with dread, note pad tumbling to the dirt as his hands clutched at lapels of his doublet. Stumbling back to lean against the wall of the building for support as his breaths came in short and panicked. Geralt realised then the other had probably asked looking more for assurances than an actual explanation on how the woman had disappeared.

He eyed the patch of dirt once more before stepping over to the bent over bard and pat him on the back as he promised, "We'll get it back, Jaskier."


	4. Chapter 4

The bard needed rest and there was little Geralt could do to track the woman who'd taken the younger man's voice right now anyway. Which he had voiced, several times on their short trip back to the inn, still he'd practically had to undress and drag Jaskier into the bath. A clear sign of the man's current distress considering he usually loved a good long soak in a hot bath with a ridiculous amount of salts and oils poured into a pungent mix. Enough to cloy a Witchers olfactory senses for days afterwards, even the stench of a rotfiend wasn't enough to completely wipe the heady floral blend.

He'd dragged the other into the washroom shoved him onto the stool in the corner and wrangled his boots off as the other struggled to get free. Unwilling to listen to sense, they could run circles around town all they wanted but it would get them no closer to finding the woman. Of course this was the same young man who'd followed a Witcher who clearly wanted to be left alone, undeterred even by a good solid punch to the gut or being kidnapped and beat on by elves. He got the impression Jaskier rarely listened to common sense. It was only when he nearly ripped one of the golden buttons clear of the bard's doublet, his fingers too thick and clumsy for the frustratingly tiny toggles, the other finally stilled his struggles.

Slapping his hands away with a huffed out breath as he waved the Witcher off, looking none too impressed with having his clothes damaged by the brute. Geralt waited until the bard was free of his jacket and shirt, to make sure he was intending to bathe as he was told, before informing the other he was stepping out for a moment to send word to someone who could likely help them find the woman. It didn't take long for the Witcher to finish his task, and he stopped by the stable before returning to make sure Roach was given a hearty breakfast.

The chestnut mare's ear was turned diligently to the side in which her master stood, listening carefully as he ran his fingers along her mane. "The bard's really not going to like this, girl, but what else can I do." Geralt sighed, giving his horse a pat on the shoulder as she munched on her oats.

Jaskier was out of the bath when he arrived back at their room, sat on the bed Geralt had slept in, dressed in an off white shirt and indigo trousers. His damp hair no longer messed in every direction and his usual blend of bath salts and flowers filled the room. He was actually a little relieved to see the other had obviously found some normalcy in enjoying his bath. Considering Geralt had done little more than heated the water and left a single bar of soap on the tub's side, bath salts left in the cupboard they sat in. He didn't do bath salts, well he did but only because his tag along insisted on adding the stuff every time they had a real bath to bathe in.

Jaskier perked up a little at his entrance, holding up his journal. [So, what now?]

"Now we wait." Geralt grunted, egnoring the way the other's face dropped as he cleared a spot in the mess the bard had earlier made on the second bed and fishing out the slip of paper he'd torn from the notice board the previous night. A small pack of wolves that have been growing bolder in their snatching from the farms outskirting the town, a simple enough job and they could use the coin now they couldn't rely on the bard's songs for extra coin. "And you sleep, you need rest and I don't think passing out in back alleys counts."

* * *

Jaskier hadn't thought he could sleep, not with everything that had happened during the night, but he must have drifted off as when he next blinked his eyes open the room was empty. Well, not empty but not the mess it had been when his eyes closed either, their gear was all neatly packed and Geralt and his swords were both gone. There was a moment of initial panic when he saw both Witcher and swords missing but it swiftly faded as he spotted Geralt's pack still sat by the nightstand.

There had been a time early on, only a few weeks into their travels together when he'd woken late in the morning to find the room they'd rented empty and the Witcher and his belongings gone. Roach no longer tied to the post outside the tiny establishment they stayed the night. He'd been ditched while he slept and was left feeling hurt and betrayed, but mostly disappointed and annoyed that the Witcher had cowardly snuck off in the night while he slept. But he could be very stubborn when he wanted and had seen Geralt snatch a contract for a monster from the local notice board the evening before. It hadn't taken him long to ask around about the beast terrorising the woods nearby, find the monster and he'd find the Witcher. Except he found the monster before Geralt had, or more so it found him.

Geralt had arrived in time to save his sorry backside and of course had been furious, insisting that situations like that were the exact reason he'd left him behind to begin with. He argued back that it was because the Witcher had ditched him he was in the situation to begin with and Geralt had spent the next few days brooding harder than ever. He spent the next few days waking throughout the night to make sure he'd not been abandoned alongside the road and though Geralt had yet to try sneaking off while he'd slept again, it didn't stop the moment of dread he still felt each time he woke and the man wasn't nearby.

Geralt returned not long after he rose from bed, a coin purse in one hand and a crumpled slip of paper in the other. The Witcher took one look his way before grunting out, "Took out some wolves for a farmer, grab your bags we're leaving."

Jaskier gave the man a questioning look of concern, surely Geralt hadn't managed to piss off the villagers, the town had seemed quite nonchalant with his presence last night. The Witcher ignored it, grabbing his own packs from the corner and turning out the door, so he hurriedly pulled his jacket on swung his lute over his back and scooped up his own travel pack to follow. They fetched Roach from the stables, then set off to the tavern where Geralt purchased some jerkied meat and dried fruit for their travels. The tavern keep insisting on cooking them up some potatoes before they left, for ridding the town of its pests. So there went any concerns of the Witcher pissing off the town people.

"So-" Fuck. That's right no voice, Jaskier pursed his lips and quickly scrawled down the words on paper before shoving it towards his friend. [So, why the hurry? Did you find the witch?]

"No."

Bollocks. [Okay, so where are we headed then?]

"A town, half a day east of here." Geralt supplied as the tavern keep placed a plate of steaming potatoes in front of each of them. Gaining a small nod from the Witcher and a beaming smile of thanks from the bard.

[And this will help find the witch that took my voice? Because that is priority right now, wraiths, bandits and ghouls be damned my beautiful voice deserves to be shared with the good people of this world not locked away by some selfish spiteful witch.] The bard lamented.

"Hmm." That have better have been a yes, he was taking that as a yes.

[How do you know someone in this town can help?] The Witcher snatched the book from his hand as he shoved it under Geralt's nose once more and Jaskier left out a snort of indignation.

Geralt just sent him a baleful look and huffed. "Eat your potatoes, Bard."

Once lunch was done they started on the road, heading east, he spent the first ten minuets of the walk trying to get his journal back. Geralt had shoved it in one of the pouches in his armour, and he couldn't exactly just ask for it back, so trying to communicate his desire for the books return wasn't easy. Not when Geralt had an annoying habbit of openly ignoring him on the road when he wasn't in the mood for talk.

Not that he could talk right now.

Ignoring the growl of annoyance from the Witcher(he could play ignorant to his travel companions wants as well), as he reached around the man for the pocket his book was in. Resulting in a leather gloved hand slapping his own away and a narrowing of golden eyes cast his way. He just narrowed his own cornflower blue in response before trying to snatch out his book again, only to be swatted away once more. Which led to an increasingly frantic and somewhat amusing -to him at least- game of snatch-and-keep-away through hand slaps between Witcher and bard, until Geralt forcefully shoved him back a step.

Pausing in his tracks as he whirled on him with a snarled, "Stop!"

Jaskier just sent the Witcher a challenging look as he mimicked writing with his hands, before resting a hand on his hip as he sent Geralt an expectant look.

The "Oh." Geralt breathed in response lacked the previous anger as the tension in the man's shoulders fled, and his expression fell back to its usual emotionless state. He didn't look abashed(he couldn't recall ever seeing the man look ashamed or even blush for that matter -lucky bastard) for snapping at him, though Jaskier liked to think the tone meant the man felt at least a little abashed deep down.

He accepted the journal when Geralt fished it out and returned, with a cheeky grin and a over embellished bow of thanks, which earned him a roll of golden eyes as the Witcher started down the dirt path once more with a shake of his head. Jaskier had just opened the book, with a dozen questions begging to be written down for the other about who they were seeing and how they were to help, and how exactly they planned to track her down.

Before he could however Geralt spoke up once more, "How about making use of this time to write down everything you know or remember about this sorceress. You know, name description, where you met the first time around, anything that might prove useful in helping track her down."

That was actually a really good idea. He found himself nodding even though the Witcher wasn't looking at him, tapping his pencil against his lip as he thought. Gods, it had been years now, and while a description of her looks would prove easy enough he wasn't sure he even recalled the name of the town he'd met her in.

"Oh, and try too leave that flowery, poetic nonsense out, I don't need to spend an hour trying to decipher your words."

Jaskier let out a petulant snort at that, honestly some people just didn't understand the creative art of a poets words.

...

"Should have thought to give you tasks while on the road before." Geralt spoke as the sun started its decent, he'd almost forgotten how peaceful it was traveling the roads with nothing but nature sounding around him. The bard was trailing a couple paces behind tapping his pencil to his lips in thought, so he let the tiniest of smirks grace his lips as he continued forward with Roach's reins in his hand. "Your far less obnoxious and annoying when you're quietly focused on something."

The soft snicker the chestnut mare let out at his side only widened the smirk, as the sound of the bard's footsteps stumbled in shock at the statement. He pretended not to notice the other man's gasped protest, he didn't have to look back to know the troubadour was mostly likely flailing in dramatic silent offence. Much like he'd floundered after the filling-less pie comment, only this time the teasing was clear in the Witcher's tone.

He felt something small and solid smack into the back of his head then, not hard enough to bruise or even hurt really, as it bounced back and skittered along the dirt to land among the other pebbles littering the path. He did look back over his shoulder then to find Jaskier trekking along casually behind him, hands behind his back and lips pursed in a silent whistle as he busily scanned the tree line to their right. Roach snickered louder this time, drawing his attention back to his trusted steed as he mumbled out, "Whose side are you on anyway?"

Jaskier put his notebook away as the sun descended to the point he could barely make out what he had written, let alone what he was trying to add. With the clouds gathering overhead he'd likely not be able to see the path in front of him soon, so tapping the Witcher on the shoulder to get his attention, he pointed to the bedrolls on Roach's saddle. Geralt had said the town was half a day's travel, but they'd left a couple hours after noon, so he'd figured the Witcher had planned to camp the night and he'd much rather set up camp while he could still somewhat make out his surroundings.

Geralt shook his head, "We're only a couple hours off, we'll keep going."

Good, good, the sooner they reach this town the closer they'll be to getting his voice back. He hoped. It was all well and good, really, except as time drew on it got darker and darker, and without the moon's light the bard could barely see two yards in front of himself. So he was forced to cling to the mare's saddle just to make sure he didn't loose the path, and despite Geralt's don't-touch-my-horse-rule, neither horse or Witcher made a fuss. Geralt led the horse and the horse led him, so thank Melitele one of them could see otherwise it would be the blind leading the blind.

There was one point which he ended up face planting into Geralt's back after tripping on something jutting out of the path, a rock or tree root, he couldn't be sure. Which had earned a huffed, "Careful." From the man who could actually see where he was going. Careful wasn't so easy when you couldn't see your own damn feet. So he was more than thankful when the lights of a town finally came into view.

They paused under the light of a lantern outside the back of a small tavern... and just stood there? Geralt didn't tie his horse with the two others who chomped on scattered hay by the water trough. He just stood there as though waiting. So Jaskier pulled his book out of his pocket and scribbled down a few words before holding it in front of the Witcher.

[So what's the plan?]

"The best way to find a sorceress, is with a sorceress." Geralt replied, eyes glued the the building's rear door.

Jaskier own eyes widened at that, a grim determination set on his face as he shook his head furiously. No, nonono, no, there were other ways, they didn't need a witch, there had to be other ways surely.

Still it could be someone else, right? Witchers are long lived if not killed by monsters and sorceresses seem to live just as long if not longer, so surely Geralt had met more than one witch in his long, long life. The back door opened then and the dreaded scent of lilac and gooseberries wafted out, before out stepped the last person he wanted to see. All beautifully dressed in an elegant velveteen black dress adorned with dark feathers, silky lightly waved raven hair and poisonous violet eyes.

Bollocks.


	5. Chapter 5

Intoxicating violet eyes swept over them both and Jaskier could swear they darkened just a little as they glanced his way. Although to be fair he may have still held a somewhat grim look on his face from her arrival. No wonder Geralt hadn't wanted to answer his questions at lunch, bastard. Jaskier found himself shifting slightly closer to the Witcher's side as she stood before them, torn between shielding himself behind the other man and putting himself between Geralt and the bad news sorceress.

"Witcher, Bard." Yennefer greeted, and oh there was definitely something smug in that quickly flashed smile.

"Yennefer." Geralt nodded his reply.

"Witch." He huffed back pettily, cursing himself once more for forgetting yet again that he no longer had a voice. Purple eyes slithered over to pin him under the woman's gaze and Jaskier forced himself not to flinch.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that." Yennefer said, tilting her head ever so closer as if straining to hear. "Care to repeat it?"

He didn't, because he couldn't and he really didn't need to make a bigger fool of himself. So instead he just sent her his best withering glare, praying the embarrassment he was feeling wasn't showing through. Probably not the best idea to antagonise the person who was supposed to be helping him, but he just really didn't like her. She didn't exactly give the greatest first impression.

The slightest of smirks played at the woman's lips and a soft snort of amusement sounded as she said, "What's wrong bard? Witch got your tongue."

Oh, oh, now she was lucky he couldn't talk because he had more than a few choice words he'd be spitting her way for that. As it was all he could do was try and channel those words into his glare, which she held like a pro until he was forced to turn away with a snort. Battles of intimidation really weren't his forte.

"Can we get down to business already." Geralt interrupted, sending Yennefer an impatient look.

"Sure." The sorceress replied, "but not here, I've rented us rooms elsewhere."

Jaskier was just about to open his book to object having to travel in the dark again, when a static charge in the air around them prickled at his skin and the wind suddenly picked up sending his hair whipping in all directions. As a growing swirling circle sparked to life, picking up dirt, dust and straw, to his right, just meters from Yen's outstretched arm. Which the sorceress promptly started towards, he stayed firmly rooted to the spot warily watching the ominous ring. Until Geralt's hand pressed against his back urging him to follow, because sure why not, it made perfect sense to walk straight into the charged spinning spiral of possible doom.

But he did so anyway, after sending the man a swift side glance to double check he was actually being urged to follow. He's probably followed the Witcher into worse so if Geralt wants him to follow the witch into her spiral of doom, why not. He followed the raven haired woman into the portal, Geralt and Roach on his heels and stumbled out the other side, who knows where. Reaching out to half collapse against the building they came out beside, one hand plastered to his stomach to try and stop it lurching out his throat.

Oh wow, that was- yep probably a good thing he didn't have a full stomach right about now.

No one else seemed to have any trouble with the sudden jump from one town to another, not even the bloody horse, which was rather unfair. Geralt did however give him a sympathetic slap on the back as he lead Roach to the horse yard nearby, a simple yard with a roofed structure at one end and a couple of troughs. A dapple and a goat -oddly enough- already stood inside.

The sky was clearer here the bard realised as he caught the moon's light brightening his surroundings, the trees around the town scattering shadows here and there that shifted in the breeze. The breeze rustled gently trough the leaves and he could hear the sounds of a port near by and... wait a tick. A Portside town encompassed by towering trees, oh shit, they were in Flotsam. That was very decidedly not a good place for him to be right now or ever again really.

[I liked the other town better, smaller, quieter much better for working on plans to find the witch, I think. We should go back. Lets go back, we shouldn't be here. I can't be here.]

He tried warning the Witcher of his need to leave -like now, but Geralt only glanced down at the book for a moment before brushing it aside to follow Yennefer as she started towards the inn. Of bloody course, the sorceress has been here what three minuets and already the man was blindly following after her like a love sick puppy. Never mind his best friend and the potentially life threatening danger he was in.

Shit, fuck. Okay, okay all he had to do was keep his head down and blend in, maybe no one will recognise him. Looking down he really regretted wearing such a bright blue, but right now was not the time for drawing the eyes. So he swiftly shrugged out of his doublet, gaining a half raised brow in his direction from the Witcher as he stuffed the thing in one of Roach's saddlebags before following at a very close pace to the inn.

He prayed his wind messed hair and Geralt's shadow and bulk mass would help hide and shield him from prying eyes. Thankfully most eyes in the building seemed to be glued to the dazzling raven haired sorceress, oh-ho if only they knew just how scary she really was. Still that didn't stop him slinking into the darkest corner seat in the place -usually Geralt's go to seat for brooding, and pressing into the shadowy corner as best he could. Yennefer seated across the table and the Witcher beside him, a sturdy shield blocking him in.

A chubby lady with a tray of drinks made her way to their table asking if she could get them anything, Geralt and Yen placed their orders before the Witcher turned to him.

[Not hungry.]

Not with his stomach still churning from the portal and his current nerves piled on top, Geralt ordered him an ale anyway and they got down to things.

"So the bard had his voice taken?" Yennefer asked, just to clarify she'd read the message Geralt sent right. The

"Hmm. Last night, or early this morning. I left him flirting with some redhead at the tavern, then this morning he's shaking me awake in a panic with no voice. She had to have been a sorceress or mage because there were signs of her leaving via a portal." Geralt replied, as he lent back in his seat.

"So this redhead, what did she look like?" The sorceress asked and Geralt shook his head.

"Not a redhead."

"But you just said.."

"Apparently she wasn't who she appeared, must have used some sort of spell or something to disguise her appearance." The Witcher elaborated, as the barmaid who'd taken their orders earlier returned with their food and drink. "The bard could tell you more."

Said bard was currently downing two deep gulps of ale before swiping one of the sausages off his plate, and taking a bite of it before he could snatch it back, so he settled on sending the younger man a glare. The book slid into his view then as Jaskier gave him a sheepish look.

[Maybe a little peckish.]

Geralt just huffed out a breath in annoyance before surrendering his buttered bread roll to the bard as well, pointedly ignoring the way his bright blue eyes lit up. Amethyst eyes fell onto Jaskier then, so he flipped back to the page he'd written that afternoon and moved to set it on the table only to spot a familiar blue hooded uniform enter the inn. Snatching the journal back and burying his face in it, in a poor attempt to hide, as he sunk back as far into the shadow of the corner as possible.

Maybe the man wouldn't see him, except now both Witcher and sorceress were giving him odd looks that really wasn't helping him blend in any. Golden eyes shifted from the young man doing his best to merge himself into the wall next to him, to scan over the rest of the room, catching on the guard who'd just entered as the guard's own eyes scanned the patrons before landing on their table and starting his way towards them. On any other day his first assumption would be that the guard, or perhaps the law here had something against either sorceresses or Witchers or even both; but considering the bard having shed his usual eye catching colour and currently doing a shit-poor job of hiding himself, he figured the bard had fucked someone he shouldn't have.

Geralt was expecting the guard to have a go at the troubadour for sleeping with his partner, wanting to take him out back for a beating, or maybe even try and drag him to whoever ran this town, be they Lord, Mayor or other. Wouldn't be the first time the bard had slept with a nobles spouse or offspring. The man stopped at their table leering down at the bard.

"Thought it you I seen slinking in 'ere, mightily bold of you to return to these parts." The man growled out, reaching across and snatching Jaskier by the arm as he ordered. "On your feet bard."

Jaskier's eyes blew wide as he scrabbled between trying to dislodge himself from the guardsman's hold, fumble to hurriedly scribble down words of defence in his book and sending pleading looks Geralt's way. Loathe as Geralt was to get involved with other peoples problems of the non-monster type, he found of late he always landed himself arse deep in them anyway. So huffing a breath through his nose he shifted to further block the bard into the corner dislodging the guard's hold in the process as he asked, "Can I ask what what you want the bard for?"

He probably should have read whatever it was the other was shoving in his face earlier.

"Commandant Bernard Loredo has a warrant out for this little whoreson's execution." The guard huffed in reply, and just like that all three sets of eyes were pinned on the bard. Jaskier gave a nervous very shaky smile, pleading blue eyes still glued solely on the Witcher. "So I'd suggest you shift aside, Witcher."

"And his crime?"

"Debauchery." The man shrugged back gruffly, it sounded like a guess at best, likely a good guess but a guess all the same.

While the bard's execution might save him a good deal of future trouble, Geralt couldn't very well let that happen. So instead he lifted a hand, casting Axii on the guardsman and informing him. "You're going to forget ever seeing my friend here and walk straight back out that door and continue on with your usual business."

He ignored the somewhat amused look Yennefer sent his way and the stupid grin that split the bard's lips at the word friend, as the the guard, blinked a couple of times before muttering, "Not sure why I'm in 'ere, best continue my rounds." Before turning and exiting the building.

Still egnoring the sorceress across from him, Geralt turned his sights on Jaskier growling out. "Who did you fuck this time, this Loredo's wife?"

Jaskier shook his head, writting down. [What, no! I don't even think the man has a misses. Debauchery. Honestly, if you're going to arrest a man at least know what you're arresting him for.] Oh, those looks clearly demanded explanation of what he'd done to earn himself an execution warrant.

[I may or may not have been an unmeaning participant in the accidental burning down of one of the nearby guard watch towers. Neither of us intended the set the thing ablaze, it was a warm summer evening set to the sounds of the late night, the whistling of the leaves on the gentle cool breeze atop the tower and the stars above reflected below in the dark glassy water made for a very romantic setting. I'd have written a song about it if I'd not been so preoccupied with other more energetic activities. Anyway at some point during our shared passion one of us must have knocked the lantern over onto a bedroll in the corner, and well flames, spilt alcohol and a wooden structure, just a recipe for disaster really. We were lucky to get out alive, that thing lit up like a plague pit much faster than either of us expected.]

"And where were the guard while you were burning down their tower?" Yennefer questioned, looking rather amused by it all.

[We'll one was off playing hooky with one of the girls in the brothel and like I said we got outta there pretty quickly once the flames started up the wall. Neither of us hung around once the thing was lit like a beacon to summon every guard in town, we both hightailed it out of there and while it was a brilliantly entertaining night we both decided it best we went our separate ways.]

"How you've managed to stay alive this long is beyond me." Geralt sighed heavily. Sometime he really did miss the simpler times back before he got caught up with bards and sorceresses.

"I'm sure that's why he stalks you like a bad smell." Yen smirked at the same time Jaskier wrote, [Surprisingly good luck and a big handsome, strong and very scary Witcher.]

"Yeah, well, you best hope no other guards spot you, because I'm not saving your sorry arse next time." Geralt intoned, emptying the last of his ale and signalling to the barmaid for a refill.

"Okay, back to this sorceress of your's bard." Yennefer announced, sliding the bard's book closer and flicking back to the page he'd had open before.

[A woman with beautiful sun kissed skin and silky waves of hazel- she has tan skin and brown hair with light curls, it's a little greasy if we're being completely honest. Her eyes are murky green-blue but seem to get a really intense vibrant teal at times, similar to that purple eyed witch-]

Jaskier snatched the book back, quickly working to scribble out some of the words as Yennefer impatiently snatched it back. She didn't have time to sit around waiting for the poet to fuss about his writing.

[ ~~Who I still think you should have left to her inevitable demise.~~ ] Oh, no wonder he was so quick to try and erase the words, Yennefer thought, Geralt mustn't have told his little pet they'd be meeting her. She honestly found it a little amusing, she did threaten and frighten the daylights out of the poor lad during there first meeting after all. Still she sent him a half scathing look just to watch him wither under her gaze.

That there, the way Yennefer's violet eyes seemed to almost glow in the shadows as she sent him a look that had him slinking down a little further in his seat. His witch's eyes did the same thing, just not quite as scary as Yennefer's.

[Oh, and she had a beauty spot, a small dark mole just below her left eye and one bottom tooth on her right side is twisted. It's only a little twisted and the angle makes it stand taller than the teeth around it, but not in a gross mangled way, I actually found it kind of cute. ...Her name, her name was ~~Anna~~ , ~~Anastasia~~ , ~~Alyssa~~ , Alina. Her name was Alina, at least that's what she told me, but she went by Mildra as a redhead so maybe Alina was a lie too.]

"Hmm, can't say the name rings any bells, but I can ask around if anyone knows of the sorceress of that name or description." Yenefer mused, as she read the page in front of her, looking rather amused when she read his notes on that night's activities -or really lack there off. The sorceress seemed to be big on orgies herself so he wasn't too surprised she found his failed one amusing. Her eye's did narrow a little though as she looked over his poor attempt of recalling exactly where he'd met Alina. "Though the location isn't as helpful. How do you not know where you were?"

Jaskier just shrugged in reply because really what could he do, he couldn't give an exact location when he doesn't even recall where he was. A small town somewhere in Aedrin, somewhere in the general vicinity of south of Gulet and east of Vengerberg was the best he could give. He'd been on an excursion with one of his college professor's, a frightfully dull man with a short temper and zero sense of humour. They were supposedly off the learn from some old master of literature in Vengerberg, and not 'fool around panhandling in taverns' as the man had lectured him, quite loudly and with a lot of spittle on more than one occasion. In other words, every time he found himself entertaining townsfolk along the way his professor would soon drag him off by the scruff with a scowl and lecture.

Performing was his passion, his life, it was what he loved and what he was good at. Sure he got some mixed reviews on his own works, but when he sung old favourites people loved him. At the time he was young and full of adventure(okay maybe he still is) and no stuffy professor was going to hold him back. So he snuck away one night somewhere between Gulet and Vengerberg, and eventually ended up in small village where he'd met Alina. Besides a general vicinity all he really had to offer was after traveling three or four days travel he'd ended up in Posada, where he met Geralt.

And really, south of Gulet, east of Vengerbeg and three maybe four day's from Posada rather narrowed down the location, it was far better than just some village in Aedrin. So they couldn't complain too much.

"And the potion you drank, what was it? What did it do?" Yen questioned, now she was asking the hard questions because he had little knowledge on magic so how was he supposed to know, that was supposed to be her department. Still he slipped his book back and put charcoal to paper.

[I didn't even know it was a potion, it was just red liquid in a wineglass, so I assumed just like any normal person it was wine. I don't know what it was supposed to do, as far as I know it didn't do anything except taste really, really bad, like there was something rotten in it. It may possibly have made me a little nauseous, raised my heartbeat but considering the taste and the fact I was already more than a little nervous and very eager to get out of there, its hard to say if that was the potion or just me.]

"She was pissed enough to hunt him down and take his voice." Geralt pointed out. "Must have been a potion of worth to hold a grudge like that."

"So no strange side effects from drinking the potion, none at all?" Yennefer asked, "And she didn't mention why she was so upset with you?"

[No and no. Wait no, she did mention it taking her half a century or so to gather ingredients, apparently some were really rare or hard to get or something. That's all I know.]

"Now that may give us something to go off." The sorceress hummed in thought, "Potions using rare or hard to come by ingredients often have long lasting or permanent effects. If its effects are still with you I know someone who may be able to tell us what the potion was. Knowing the potion should help find the sorceress we're looking for."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Internet has not been my friend this week.

Jaskier didn't hang around long afterwards, finishing his ale before announcing via damn book that he was turning in, lest another guardsman stumble in and spot him. As much as he didn't like the idea of leaving Geralt alone with Yennefer, he still didn't trust the woman. She was nothing but bad news, even when 'helping' she usually left things worse off than before. She plays with the Witcher's heart and he didn't like that, she left him a sulking, grumpy, brooding mess for days the last time she was around only to disappear without a word while they still slept.

But his own neck was on the line -literally if the guards got him- so he had little choice but to hide away upstairs in their room. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, he'd intended to stay up to try and make sure Geralt returned to his own bed not the Witch's. Obviously that didn't happen as the sun peeking through the window right in his eyes woke him the next morning and he blinked his eyes open to find the Witcher perched on the bed across from him, re-packing his pack. The bed the man sat on did look slept in though, which surely was a good sign.

Gold eyes slid up to lock onto the bard as Jaskier shifted to sit up and Geralt said, "Good, you're up. Get packed, the sooner we leave the better."

Yes, well, he didn't need to be told that twice. He was more than happy to leave this particular town behind, he'd be spotted far more easily in the daylight hours. He swiftly pulled on his boots, ran his comb through his hair and strapped on his lute and was ready to go. Geralt hefted his own pack over his shoulder along with his swords and the two were out the door and down the stairs. Clinging close to the Witcher and keeping his head down, they managed to make it to the horse yard without trouble. Jaskier let out a silent groan as he found Yennefer already waiting, of course it was too much to ask that she may have just given directions too this potion expert of her's.

That would be far too easy.

Though he had to admit as much as his stomach protested it, her portals were rather handy. Saved them having to pass through either of the guard stationed gateways to leave town. The portal didn't take them far this time, Flotsam still visible through the thick, dense tree line behind them as the sorceress explained the man they were to see shielded against such methods of travel so they'd have to continue on foot. She then handed them an apple each, breakfast likely, though he couldn't help but find it suspiciously generous. Kind and generous just didn't seem to fit right on the woman and he couldn't help but be wary of the completely harmless looking fruit.

Apples were a witch's go to when poisoning people in folktales after all, Geralt must have noticed the scrutinising look he was giving the fruit as he huffed a half amused sounding, "It's not poisoned." The glint in purple that watched him from the corner of the sorceress's eyes suggesting the frustratingly beautiful woman had chosen that particular fruit on purpose. Jaskier pointedly didn't look the Witch's way as he bit into the apple, portals apparently a great appetite killer -in him anyway, he only swallowed a few bites before slipping the rest of the fruit to Roach. Ignoring the look the Witcher sent him for 'spoiling his horse'.

They came across a small well kept stable a few hundred meters down the road and Yennefer disappears inside.

"No touching." Geralt reminds softly, noting the blue eyes catching on his horse and the slight twitch of fingers. Cutting off the bard's attempt to weasel his way onto the horse before he could get started, earning a pout from the younger man, who scuffed the toe of his boot through the dirt at being told off.

She soon retuned on a well groomed black mare, with a long waved mane and tail with braids. On foot as it turned out, Jaskier soon found meant he would travel on foot while the other two rode on their mounts making eyes at each other. It was almost enough to make him retch. Not to mention completely unfair. Honestly there was plenty of room on Roach for a bard who weighed very little, thank you very much. He didn't even have his voice to complain, and oh, would he if he could.

Well voice or no, it was up to him to keep the Witch at a respectable distance from Geralt, he'd do everything he can to prevent her from catching the Witcher in her spell again. So picking up a slightly swifter pace he made sure to keep stride at Roach's side, wedged between both horses to keep them at a distance.

[The guards warn of Elves in the forrest around Flotsam, you sure this is safe. I'd rather not be bound and beaten again.] He waved his book up at the Witcher and yeah, okay, maybe Geralt had taken the most of the beating and he'd only really been left with, rope burn, a headache and a bruised chest. Still he'd rather avoid angry Elves if he could.

"Stay out of their way and they'll stay out of ours." Geralt grunted back with confidence, though the way gold eyes scanned their surroundings made the words a little less convincing.

He soon discovered his book did little to convey his words while the Witcher was sat upon his horse, getting it up to eye level proved a challenge. Not to mention waving the thing about to try and gain said man's attention irritated the horses, Roach's ears had flickered back on several occasions at having something waved just inside her line of sight. He really wasn't eager to find out what she or the dark mare might do should he push their nerves too much.

"Are you sure you want to get his voice back?" Yennefer broke the silence with her own honeyed voice, deep violet eyes glancing down at him as she pointed out, "It's much more peaceful like this."

"I'd almost forgotten what nature sounded like." Geralt huffed back in poorly concealed amusement. Great now they were bonding over his misfortune. Jaskier let out a loud snort of annoyance, hands on hips and mouthing clearly as he could, "Funny." With a roll of his eyes, once both eyes were on him.

"I think I like him better this way." The sorceress smiled smugly.

...

"Hmm, it is nice hearing myself think for a change." Geralt hummed, looking back at the bard who had fallen back towards the flank as they continued down the twisting road. They'd been teasing the bard on and off for nearly two hours now, well mostly Yen but he joined in once in a while. Making sure to let the silent brat have his own say so he didn't feel too excluded.

[Oh, so you'll sing for your own supper now will you?]

"I managed to survive before." He replied, noting the way the other was starting to sulk, his pace slowing a step and landing him in line with the horses rears. The hairs on their tails flicking at his face every time they swatted to the side, probably time to lay off a little. "I suppose I might miss not being chased from town as soon as payments been exchanged, and the extra coin tossed my way on occasion."

He didn't miss the flash of pride that flit across the bard's face, it wasn't often he admitted the man's songs proved helpful. He had a reputation to hold up after all, but maybe it wouldn't hurt to tell Jaskier he did a good job once in a while.

"Don't give in to his sulking, Geralt," Yennefer snorted, drawing the Witcher's eyes back to her. "It'll only encourage his childish behaviour."

Jaskier sent her a very childish tongue poke for that.

...

It had to have been past noon now, okay he didn't know what time it was, couldn't tell through all the trees towering over them. Geralt would probably know the time, even Yennefer most likely, but he'd never been the best at keeping time. The trees though, really were big, much taller than any of the other woods or forests he'd seen and the trunks on some of them where so thick, one could easily carve a decent sized house into them. They must have been ancient, no wonder the forest belonged to Elves, beasts and monsters.

Besides the few dirt trails winding through the undergrowth the place seemed untouched by all but nature, wild flowers and various bushes lined the ground between trees. Birds, bees and butterflies flittering between flowers and branches, he spotted a deer darting past on their right not long back and low howls in the distance carried through the wind. It was beautiful and alive and he'd sing of it if he had his voice, as it was he couldn't even hum out a tune and while his fingers had taken to softly strumming out a harmony on his lute, silent composing had never really been his thing.

He worked better when he could sound the words out loud, it was also hard to focus on working a tune, writing out words and listening in on the conversation between Witch and Witcher all at once. Just incase said conversation took to dangerous territory, as it was the current conversation seemed to be some retailing of an encounter the sorceress had had with an old flame a few months back. From the sounds it did not got to well for said flame, though Geralt didn't seem too invested in the topic. The Witcher showed no signs of jealousy, good. Good, maybe that was a sign the man was over his silly infatuation with the sorceress.

Yeah right.

Some women were not so easy to get over, like the Countess de Stael his beautiful muse who has run him off twice now. This last time even threatening to have him stripped of his title and any lands he owned. Which jokes on her, he rarely use his title and the Pankratz land and wealth still belonged to his father, ha! Still, he knew should she realise her folly and plead him back he'd run too her even if though deep down he knows she's bad news. She'll likely have his head one of these days, yet she held this power over his heart that very few others had. Sort of like the way he'll foolishly follow Geralt into monster nests, even though one of these days he'll probably end up dead for it.

It certainly made for great songs.

It seemed the sorceress Yennefer of Vengerberg was Geralt's Countess de Stael.

He trailed behind the horses now not that either of his current company seemed to even notice, sick of being flicked the face by horse tail. The black mare seemed innocent enough in it's occasional flicker of long dark hairs, but Roach, that conniving mare, she was a different stroy. He was rather certain she was purposely aiming for him, gudging by the way she'd occasionally angle her head back to glance his way, or the noise she made that sounded suspiciously like snickering whenever she got him square in the nose. Even made him sneeze at one point, and to think he'd shared his apple with her.

He'd stopped quietly strumming his lute, packing her safely back in her case to fish about his own meagre pack for the bread roll he'd stuffed inside, when he grew hungry. Hence his assumption it had to be after noon, he's fallen further behind since then, slowly trudging along a good couple meters behind. The Witcher to caught up in brooding while watching the Witch whenever she wasn't watching him, as she ranted about gods know what, honestly he'd stop listening awhile ago. Too distracted by the growing ache in his legs and the pain in his feet, because those blisters on his blisters from the other night, well he was pretty sure they were growing new ones of their own.

And he'd tried waving down Geralt's attention a few minutes prior to no effect to ask for a break, because fuck it, his feet needed a rest, he needed a rest and no-one was paying the voiceless bard any attention so screw them. He stumbled to the side of the path, plopped himself down on one of the roots at the base of a huge tree. They'd have to notice he isn't following eventually and then it's their own fault they'll have to backtrack. He honestly didn't care right now, because the inside of his boot was feeling uncomfortably moist and he was pretty sure his foot was bleeding and he should probably wrap it. So carefully pulling it free from the boot he silently winced at the bloody mess that was his foot, several of the blister-wearing-blisters were now popped and stinging and leaking blood.

He had pulled a bandage from his pack and was just starting to wrap it, when bark tumbled onto his lap from the tree, he paused to sweep it off. A wet droplet splattered from above, darkening the spot on his trouser leg where it fell, swiftly followed by a second. Rain, that would be just his luck now wouldn't it, looking up even though he knew he'd not see the sky through the leaves, his breath caught in his lungs. Eyes shooting wide as he looked up to find the underside of a large jaw belonging to a... a... he didn't know what the fuck that was.

Jaskier slid carefully and quietly as he could from where he sat to press down between the roots, eyes glued to the creature as it dropped down from the tree. Narrowly missing where he'd just been sat as it landed on the path only a couple meters in front of him. It was huge, maybe not quite as big as a horse but easily twice the size of a freaking dog. Which was plenty huge enough when it was just meters before him and Geralt was who knows how fucking far down the path. It looked like some bizarre insect-lizard mix, with its long strong jaw, half a dozen legs and long tail with a mace like spiked end. Its armour like scaled shell, shined both purple and red like those little beetles that came out in the summer time, under the patching moss growing on top.

He mentally pleaded for the Witcher, not daring take his eyes from the thing to check if the other two had noticed the creature too. It hadn't yet noticed him, its focus drawn by the horses trailing further down the path. He'd toss his damn boot at the bastard if he wasn't too petrified to take his eyes off the monster, or drawing its attention to the brightly coloured bard cowering in the roots beside it. Probably couldn't throw that far anyway, and he didn't have the best aim. He did how ever chance inching his hand ever so slowly to wrap around the neck of his lute, not exactly a weapon but it was better than nothing.


	7. Chapter 7

An absence of boot steps caught the Witcher's attention, breaking it from the women next to him, but it was the sudden spike in heart rate and sour sent of fear that had him turning to seek out the bard. "Fuck." The curse left his mouth the moment his sight caught on the Endrega on the path several meters down the path behind them. Or more so the brightly coloured bard pressed into the roots right by the creature's side. Lute in one hand and boot in the other.

He was pretty sure his sudden swear had caught Yennefer's attention, but he didn't pay her mind as he leapt off of Roach already drawing his silver sword. Jaskier had somehow managed to avoid its attention despite being so close but the Witcher knew that was about to change as the oversized insectiod sniffed at the air. Head snapping to where the bard hid as it picked up his scent.

Even without his voice, Geralt had heard the other's yelp enough times over the years to hear it clear as day as the creature turned on him, despite its silence. "Jaskier!" He called, sending out a blast of Aard as he rushed at the oversized bug, knowing full well he'd not reach it with sword in time as it launched itself at the bard. The blast of energy knocking the monster and sending it toppling onto its back, as Jaskier scurried, practically on all fours to his side. Breaths coming out in short bursts as he ducked safely past the Witcher as Geralt advanced on the monster, slicing its unprotected underside as it scrabbled to right itself.

He heard the rustle of leaves and snapping of twigs as another scurried out of the bushes, and the crunch of dirt as another dropped from above right behind him. It was no surprise though, where there was one Endrega there were certain to be other's. They were fucking hive creatures, run into one and the rest come crawling from the cracks. Spinning on his heels and bringing his blade around he took a leg off the insectoid behind him, the creature rearing back in shock. Then sent another blast of Aard as the third sprung at him, knocking it off course so he could finish the first off before it could manage to right itself.

Another two scrambled from the trees and Geralt gave a grunt more out of annoyance than anything. Oversized fucking bugs. At least they seem to have forgotten all about Jaskier, focus instead on him. He cast Igni, setting the two newest arrivals aflame, the moss accumulating on their back's like kindling, making the attack more powerful. Sending the monsters curling into charring corpses. A slight building of static, the only warning before a charge of bright purple lightning struck past him. He jumped back just in time to avoid -for the most part- being covered in sludgy insect goop, as the Endrega hit by the blast exploded in a mess of limbs, shell and viscera. His boots not quite lucky enough to avoid being splatted with muck.

He didn't miss the amused look in Yen's eyes as he lifted a boot to try and kick some of the goo off. The remaining Endrega with the missing leg scampered off through the undergrowth and the Witcher let it. If it was smart enough to flee, who was he to hunt it down. Jaskier had pulled his boot back on and was now staring down at the Witcher's boots with disgust crinkled upon his nose. He seemed to have recovered swiftly enough, despite having almost been attacked just now, which for some reason seemed to prickle Geralt's ire.

Mostly at himself, for letting himself become so distracted in the first place. He should have been alerted to the creatures lurking so close by, should have noticed just how far behind the bard had dropped. Should have fucking noticed the lack of Jaskier's footsteps long before they'd ended up a near quarter mile from him.

In a momentary lapse of clarity he found himself foolishly snapping, "Are you trying to get yourself killed, why the fuck didn't you call out?" He regret the outburst instantly for it's stupidity, mentally kicking himself as he recalled the other's current predicament with lack of voice. Knowing he was fully deserving of the twin looks of incredulity aimed at him and the short snort from Roach.

The bard was a lot easier to keep track of when he was noisy.

Closing his eyes and letting out a snort of air through his nose as he re-sheathed his blade, Geralt decided he'd rather not risk making a bigger fool of himself by speaking further. Instead he just stalked back to Roach, avoiding the sorceress's gaze and taking some comfort in the fact the bard had deemed to look at least a little chastised. Lifting a foot into the stirrup and swinging his leg over saddle, before turning to the bard and ordering, "Get on."

It was the easiest way to guarantee the trouble magnet stay safe, that and he hadn't missed the fresh bandage wrapped arround the bard's foot as he'd scrabbled away from the monster. Remembering the complaints of aching feet and blisters before the other had his voice stolen, and the mutterings that it was perhaps time to invest in a new pair of shoes. Jaskier's boots were indeed looking a little tattered, the soles worn thin from all the walking they did, all the walking Jaskier did. Lets face it the young man did most of the walking, trudging alongside even when the Witcher himself was mounted upon Roach's back. Like he had done all morning.

He heard the sound of the bard's pencil scratching at paper and knew he'd have a book shoved into his view before it even popped into his vision.

[I'm dying.]

"What?" Where the hell had that come from, the bard didn't have a scratch on him. The questioning look he sent the other had Jaskier scratching in his book again, Geralt waited eager for an explanation.

[Be honest with me, am I dying? That things spit, or drool, or venom,or whatever dropped onto me is poisonous isn't it. I wiped it with my bare hands, it's in my skin and now I'm dying aren't I.]

He read it twice, just to make sure he'd read it right, because what? Where the hell was that even coming from, neither witch or Witcher had given any inclination that the bard may be in danger. He looked down at the man, finding wide blue eyes staring up at him with a look that was two parts cautious, one part curious and a glint of something that he was sure was to be the beginning of his next headache. Still he felt his own eyes narrow in concealed worry in response. "Endrega aren't poisonous, why would you think- why, do you feel ill?"

A single brown brow raised in response, before the bard was back to scribbling in his book. The words on the page, bringing forth an urge to clip the other upside the head along with the headache he'd sensed coming.

[You only let me on your precious horse when my lifes in danger.]

"Walk then." Geralt huffed, holding back a smirk as the bard scrabbled to pull himself into the saddle as he signalled Roach to start forward once more.

...

He was on Roach. He was on Roach and he wasn't dying, or incapacitated, oh how he'd sing about it if he had his voice. It would likely get him kicked off, but oh, it would be worth it. As it was, he didn't even have room enough to swing his lute around to strum at her chords, Geralt likely wouldn't take to well to being prodded in the back with the instrument anyway. He was however in the perfect position to give Yennefer's horse a sly kick into gear with his toe when the sorceress got a little too close to the Witcher for comfort. Needless to say after a glare that likely promised some form of curse or magical payback and a snide comment or two of how much more pleasant it was without constant noise from a certain bard. The woman kept a wide enough birth between them to ensure her mare was out of reach of the bard's encouragement.

They soon turned down a far less travelled track, the narrow road partially overgrown with grass and vines. The snapping of a twig under one of the horses hooves, sending half a dozen pheasant's scattering from a nearby bush in a mess of flapping of wings. Jaskier couldn't help but visibly flinch as with a swift hand sign Geralt sent a few of the birds into a tree with an audible crunch and he found himself slapping the Witcher the shoulder. Sure death was instant but they were innocent bloody birds, not monsters jumping out to eat them, talk about an over-reaction.

They weren't _that_ startling.

"Dinner." Geralt grumbled in response as he hopped from the saddle to go collect the dead birds.

Oh. Right, yeah. He wasn't usually present for the hunting of dinner, more than happy to tend to camp while Geralt handles that part. Killing monsters or things looking to kill or maim you was one thing, but hunting down some creature that was content with minding its own... well, he supposed he just found it easier not meeting dinner before he ate it. He would not make it on his own out in the wilderness without Geralt, that was obvious. Not without a full pack of supplies anyway.

"Bard's obviously little help when hunting dinner." Yennefer mused, scoffing at the human's reaction. Turning to Geralt with disbelieving violet eyes and saying, "I'd never imagined Geralt of Riva, the White Wolf himself, as the type who'd travel around -how long now, carrying along some kid who can't even work a snare."

Jaskier huffed out a snort, crossing his arms over his chest. He took offence to that, because one, he wasn't some kid in need of carrying around and two, he could work a snare. He just didn't like to.

"He can work a snare." Geralt rumbled out as he got back in the saddle, looping the now stringed together birds over the saddle horn. "Caught a rabbit once, thing was still alive so he let it free." A slender black brow raised, as Geralt huffed out, "'You didn't see it's eyes, Geralt.' He whined, 'the poor little guy was terrified.'"

He was openly pouting now, as Yen let out a sharp laugh and Geralt let out a deep rumble Jaskier knew to be a chuckle, but he didn't care. Mock all they like but he couldn't kill it, he had to let it go, especialy since it had reminded him so much of the pet rabbit he'd had when he was eight. For a full summer before his father found him and snapped his fluffy little neck then served him for dinner. He'd been sent to his room with a flogging when he'd refused to eat that night, but he couldn't, he just couldn't eat poor Sir Twitch-nose.

They found a nice little clearing to camp in soon after, much to Jaskier's dismay, apparently they were only two hours from their destination. If this man could possibly somehow identify the potion and help narrow down their search and return his voice, well the sooner the better he thought. Geralt thought otherwise, insisting quite vehemently that this forrest was too dangerous to traverse at night and well, given the distant howl as darkness descended that sounded far more monster than beast, he figured Witcher knew best.

Jaskier set about his usual routine while setting up camp, minus his usual casual complaints, camping just wouldn't be camping if somebody didn't complain at least once during setup. Collecting sticks and logs for a fire and scoping out an ideal position before laying out their bedrolls. This time with open glaring and and a litany of silent ranting about a certain Witch who was taking full advantage of the poor besotted Witcher who she'd put to work setting up her tent, since he needn't hunt for dinner.

A tent, of course she had a tent, heavens forbid she sleep in the dirt like the rest of them. And what, she can conjure her tent up from who knows where but she can't magic it up herself. Of course not, not when she could stand back and ogle the Witcher as he slaved away in front of her. He tended to his lute as Geralt spit their dinner above the fire, while Yennefer couldn't magically prep her own tent it seemed she could magically prep the birds, though he couldn't really complain, he was rather hungry.

Maybe she could be helpful when she wanted, and then she insisted on helping Geralt clean up the growth that was starting on his jaw and Jaskier found himself wishing she wasn't so helpful. As much as he'd love to glare daggers into the woman's back as she fussed over the Witcher, he decided it best to get on with his own routine and try to ignore her. For the time being.

Yennefer let out a soft snort as she spied the bard washing his face sat across the fire, tying his finge back out of the way with a ribbon as he wiped a damp cloth over his face. The razor in her hand, running smoothly along Geralt's jaw, "Careful." he grumbled as her eyes flicked back across to the poet as he pulled a small jar from his pack. A salve or liniment of some sort, "Oh quit your fussing, I'm not going to cut you." she admonished, as the brightly dressed man rubbed the cream over his face.

She found herself smiling despite herself as she turned her attention back to the Witcher, "How cute, your little bard has his own beauty regime."

"Hmm." Geralt replied in all his usual eloquence.

"Does he often spend time making himself pretty in the middle of the woods?" She asks as said man rubbed a new balm into his lips.

"Every night. Wash, cream, balm, sometimes there's a second cream for under the eyes." Geralt huffed, watching as Jaskier's cheeks flushed a little as he realised he'd drawn both sets of eyes from across the fire, and hastly shoved the balm back in his bag.

"Would it be cruel to conjure up a zit right in the middle of his chin." Yen whispered blithely in the Witcher's ear, with a mischievous glint in her eyes. She was well aware of the glare that had been burning into her back earlier.

"Yen." Geralt growled in warning.

"Fine, I'll play nice."

Playing nice as it turned out was harder than expected. Especially when the already irritating man who was usually easy enough to be driven off in their usual customary little battle of words, seemed to be playing a master game of cockblock. Every time she managed to snag Geralts undivided attention the shit managed to divert it elsewhere. The Witcher moves to tuck a loose wave of raven hair behind her ear and his idiot companion somehow manages to set alight the corner of a bedroll. She almost has him completely enthralled in her violet gaze and the bard decides to tune his lute. At least that's what he claimed to be doing, there seemed suspiciously little tune for 'tuning', sounded more like someone disembowelling a live cat.

A rogue piece of pheasant 'accidentally' found its way into her hair as she lent her side against the Witcher, when the poet tossed his leftovers to Geralt. Trajectory was just a little off, yeah right, and yet she was the one who received the disapproving glare from said Witcher for the small warning spark of purple electricity that the other dodged. Then the man had the audacity to squeeze his bardic butt down on the log between Witch and Witcher, forcing her to shift aside so he could force Geralt to read whatever nonsense he thought to scribble in his book.

"Best pray the sorceress hasn't already used your voice in one of her spells, would be a real shame if you never got it back." She found herself saying spitefully, as the bard tried her patience. The nuisance instantly turning with a gasp and wide blue eyes to the Witcher.

Geralt sent her a look that was more exasperated than heated, huffing out a sigh as he falsely assured the younger man. "I'm sure witches don't use peoples voices in spells and potions. She's just riling you up."

Anything had the potential for use in a spell or potion, so she knew for a fact that was lie. There were lots of things a mage could do with a stolen voice, but by the sounds of it this woman likely took it solely as a form of punishment and spite. She probably had it stashed in some jar or box on a shelf somewhere.

It was after they had all settled for the night and Geralt had found his way into her tent, that Jaskier got in the way once more. Geralt had just stripped off his shirt revealing that perfectly sculptured chest of his and climbed into the oversized bed when the uninvited brat stumbled through the tent door. Holding his book out for Geralt to see, [I heard a noise.] before scanning the room with a disbelieving awe that almost sent him tumbling back a step.

Scribbling in his book once more. She was getting impatient, the idiot obviously had a whole spiel going here.

[Here you two are hiding out in this deceptively spacious tent, while I'm laying out in the dirt how is that even remotely fair. What happened to the big broody Witcher who, and I quote, 'Don't need a bed, I'm perfectly content with sleeping in the dirt.' Yet here we are sleeping in the dirt and the moment I close my eyes you sneak off to this very comfy looking bed, which by the way is more than big enough for three so shove over.]

"No way." She swiftly shut down his attempt to weasle his way into the bed, she was not sharing her bed with everyone. "This is my tent bard and you are not welcome."

Predictably big blue puppy-dog eyes were turned to Geralt only this time the Witcher didn't cave to them, simply shrugging back. "It is her tent."

[The noise?]

"Is Roach worried or agitated?" Geralt asked.

The bard shook his head.

"Then there's nothing to worry about."

"There you go it's safe." Yennefer intoned, waving the bard off with her hand. "Now get out."

[Let my death rest heavy on your consciences. Unbelievable.] That seemed to be directed at both of them along with a petulant huff as the bard threw his arms in the air and gave a stomp of his foot as he turned and stomped from the room.

Her own amused smirk met the Witcher's slight twitch of mirth as they turned to each other after the bard's dramatically childish exit. With a silent mutter and a twitch of a finger she sealed the door to prevent any further intrusions, and if the bard was to be eaten during the night then so be it.


	8. Chapter 8

Sleeping in the middle of the forest out in the open all alone, as it turned out is not at all fun. The snapping of sticks and howls of wolves seem far more scary and loud when your alone. Well, alone in the sense that his travel companions were tucked up safely and comfortably in the Witch's magic tent -which he'd found out he no longer had access to since the damn door had vanished completely from the outside- doing who know's what. Likely each other, despite his attempts to thwart the inevitable.

So he'd found himself leaving the fire which had proved little comfort besides warmth, dragging his bedroll over to lay beside valiant and brave Roach. Who had gladly offered her protection after a simple payment of two slightly crumpled sugar cubes. She'd have liked all three he had pulled from his pocket, but he couldn't deny granting the third to Yen's black beauty, not when she'd eyed the treats so longingly.

Even then he'd not found much sleep, being voiceless was beginning to lose its novelty, not that it was much fun to begin with. He always had so much to say but now he couldn't say any of it, sure he could scribble it all in his book but it was easier to ignore words on a page than it was constant chatter. It was so much easier to gain attention too when you could be loud, he wouldn't have been bested by Yennefer so easily if he had a voice. Sealing the door to her tent to keep him out, with his voice he'd have sat outside the thing and given a very long and loud in depth description of two grave hags getting it on in an open grave. Yeah, just try and stay in the mood for a good wrestle in the sheets with that disgustingly nasty image implanted in your head.

He'd tried busing himself with his lute, strumming a few tunes to distract him from the sounds of night and calm his mind enough to find sleep. It usually worked, but his fingers fumbled with the strings and the sound faltered, he just wasn't feeling it. His inspiration seemed to have dwindled with his mood, which was never a good sign. Something heavy and unwelcome was slowly settling into his gut as words replayed in his head all night long.

' _Are you sure you want to get his voice back? It's much more peaceful like this.'_

_'I could get used to this silence.'_

_'Think I like him better this way.'_

_'Why are we going through the hassle hunting down this witch again?'_

It was just playful mocking, meant only in jest nothing harmful. They were just pulling his leg, playing for a rise. Like when he and Yennefer threw insults at each other whenever they were in the same vicinity. Sure they weren't exactly best of friends -though maybe they could possibly become friends later down the track, if she'd stop toying with Geralt's heart- but that didn't mean they truly hated each other. As proven by the fact she was helping him now and should the need arise he would willingly -well, perhaps a little reluctantly- do the same for her if she required his aid.

He knew the words were spoken harmlessly yet they insisted on circling in his mind all the same.

_'Best pray the sorceress hasn't already used your voice in one of her spells, would be a real shame if you never got it back.'_

_'I'm sure witches don't use peoples voices in spells and potions.'_

I'm sure witches don't use peoples voices in spells and potions. I'm sure. Not a definite they don't. Or a I know for a fact, just a I'm sure. What if they couldn't get his voice back? What if it truly was gone, lost from him forever? He wasn't sure he was ready for that. What would he do, he was a bard what good is a bard without a voice, without song. Who would sign of Geralt's deeds and praise? He supposes he could sell his songs, but they wouldn't know the Witcher like he does, the songs wouldn't hold the same soul and emotions, it just wouldn't be the same.

What would he do for coin? Surely strumming his lute alone wouldn't earn him enough to make a living, he'd have to play backup for some other bard. Join a troupe and stand in the background to play backup for someone who could sing, dressed in some stupid matchy outfit identical to each of the other backup players. An un-noticed and under appreciated musician that just blends into the background at feasts and parties, who are forgotten about the moment they stop playing. Or settle down in some tiny house or rented room and write poetry, or work documenting some pompus scholars ramblings. He didn't want to dress as some dull clone or settle down someplace, he loved travelling -some days more than others- and joining on Geralt's adventure. Seeing the continent and all the wonders, unique and horrifying things and creatures found there.

Would Geralt still want him around if he couldn't pay his own way?

And wasn't that just a most terrifying thought. He didn't want to lose the very best friend he'd ever made. Gods he didn't even want to think about it. He didn't want to think about any of it. And he couldn't sleep because of his ceaseless thoughts so instead he'd found himself half blindly plating little braids into Roach's mane as the dawn slowly crept over the horizon.

By the time the daylight creatures of the forest were starting to stir and the Witcher and Witch emerged from the tent that once again had a door. Roach had a row of evenly spaced braids interwoven with the hair of her mane down the length of her neck and Jaskier had packed up all of his and Geralt's belongings, ready to get going again. Breakfast could wait he wanted to hurry up and get to this magic potion man and find out if he could really help already.

Except as it turns out breakfast couldn't wait, because a certain pretty witch insisted on hot breakfast and tea before carrying on. And he was sure she was only doing so as payback for last night, for all his attempts to interrupt anything before it could really start between witch and Witcher. Good, he thought, maybe that meant despite being locked out he'd still managed to deter them from doing anything.

A man could hope.

The rest of the trip just breezed past with Geralt letting him ride double on Roach again, which was still somewhat unnerving, having spent so long with the mare being off limits. The Witcher hadn't looked overly impressed with Roach's new look but then what did Geralt know about style, the man wore the same damn armour day in day out. Not to mention the man's wardrobe didn't include a single ounce of colour. Roach looked gorgeous.

The hut they came upon was a lot creepier than he'd been expecting, though the man being a friend of Yennefer's and living out in the middle of the woods in no-mans-land, he probably should have expected it. It wouldn't have been so bad if it wasn't for the creepy symbols carved into the trees and chimes made of bone hanging from the trees along the path. Maybe that was what Yen ment about the place being warded from portals. Various animal, monster and some very suspiciously human looking skulls, decorating the rickety old fence along with ribbons and hide wards.. perhaps? they had all manner of language and symbols scrawled on them. The unnaturally large gathering of ravens on the hut's roof and surrounds wasn't helping much.

All in all, the closer they drew the more he wished he was anywhere but here.

"It's just to ward off trouble makers." Geralt sounded completely out of the blue, probably having picked up on his growing unease. Succeeding in almost startling him out of his skin at the unexpectedness of it, but hey, at least the Witch found it amusing.

"It's all wards and show, the mage himself is about as intimidating as you are, Bard." Yennefer stated as they dismounted at the gate.

Aww, a comfort in the form of insult, she could be so caring at times.

His notebook was out in a flash. [Never underestimate a bard, you never know what we may be packing.]

There was a glint in violet eyes as they trailed over the words, and a small flicker of gold before Geralt swiftly turned to run his hand down the length of Roach's nose, with a barely there sound that sounded deceptively like that of a scoff. Jaskier's own cornflower blue narrowed at the Witcher's back before flicking back to the witch as a slender black brow inched towards her hairline, her purple gaze dropping below waist level.

"Oh, I know exactly what you're packing." Yennefer says with a tiny smug smirk. "So I wouldn't brag too much."

Jaskier can't help the involuntary intake of breath, his eyes widening in indignant horror, as his mind dredged up the memory of slender fingers gripping him through his trousers and the bite of steal at his throat. Mouth forming a scowl as he turns away from the woman in a failed attempt to hide the growing embarrassment flushing his face. You know what, scratch that whole Yen could be caring thought, the woman was a devil.

"Enough," Geralt huffed and for a fraction of a moment the bard felt his chest swell with warmth at his friend jumping in to defend his honour. Just a fraction of a moment, before the feeling deflated as the Witcher finished with a gruff, "both of you, lets just get on with this." As he stalked off towards the hut.

Honestly would it kill the guy to defend his best friend's honnor, just once. But oh, no, it's no problem she only just insulted his very manhood, so it's not like he needs defending. Honestly, between the witch's insults and the Witcher spreading rumour of him having been kicked by an oxen, one might assume they were actively conspiring to pummel his self-esteem into the dirt.

He trudged along the path behind Witcher and Witch, a shiver rattling his spine as he passed the bone and ward covered gate, sending the ravens perched nearby scattering in a flutter of lose feathers and caws. Picking up speed to walk at Geralt's heel, Yennefer had said the guy specialised in potions, but his hut gave off more of a evil curses type vibe. Well, it did to him anyway, considering all the omen birds, besides usually nothing good came from decorating your property with dead animals. The door knocker was a cat skull for the love of Melitele, that alone had to be all manner of ill luck.

He was half expecting some rickety old man in a cloack with bones and chicken feet or something around his neck, like in the tales of hex casters and voodoo men. The man who answered the door however was tall and not at all crooked or rickety, with sun kissed skin (how one gets such a fine tan in a dense forest with trees so tall sunlight rarely touches the ground was beyond him.) long auburn hair, braided neatly out of his face, perfect cheekbones, deep green eyes and pointed ears.

He did have a cloak however, made of fine silks in a green that matched his eyes prefectly and gold detailed embroidery around the trim. Did all magic users dress so elegantly? Seriously where on earth did these people shop.

Deep green eyes racked over the three of them as the elf eyed his guests, Jaskier could swear they darkened just a little as they fell upon him, before landing on Yennefer. The elf let out a huff as his gaze settled, speaking the Elder tongue when he spoke. " _I've been dreading the day Yennefer of Vengerberg came knocking on my door once more._ "

" _Nice to see you too._ " Yennefer replied in elder, words thick with sarcasm, as they were granted entry to the hut. Which as it turned out was a complete contrast to the creepy vibe exterior, sure there were shelves of potions and jars and vials of all manner of substances and... ew, creature parts. That was to be expected, otherwise though, the place was actually quite cottagey and inviting. Not too different to a healers shack.

"Faradin." The mage introduced himself with a tilt of his head.

"Geralt." Geralt intoned, with a somewhat polite nod of his own head, and when after a moment the other had yet to introduce him, Jaskier elbowed the Witcher in the side. Geralt just gave a small grunt, sending him an annoyed look before he seemed to get the hint. "Oh, and this is Jaskier."

Jaskier gave his best pleased-to-meet-you smile, and extended his right hand in offer. Faradin just ignored him and his offered handshake completely, turning to idly peruse over his own potion collection. Rude. Were all elves this rude? Sure Filavandrel had turned out alright in the end, still he and his people had kidnapped and beat them and he had threatened to kill them to begin with. He'd offered a hand to a elf who'd been targeted by two drunks outside Novigrad once, and got spat on for his efforts. Chireadan was nice enough chap though, he'd been kind and helpful from the start. Great guy, terrible taste in women though, but otherwise Jaskier rather liked the guy. He was sarting to think Chireadan might have been the exception.

And while yeah he gets it, humans come, they kill, they take. He isn't going to deny it, there have been more than enough wars throughout history to prove that. Even still, they fight and war among themselves, its one of the reasons he became a bard in the first place. He'd much rather follow his heart and do what he loves while spreading whatever joy and entertainment he can to others, than squabble over petty things like land and power amongst other lords and nobles. But honestly the other races were no different, as Filavandrel's friends had proven there are many elves who wish to war with the humans. Those who hate other races look down upon those who try to live together and get along with them. They hold grudges and squabble over the same things humans do and are obviously just as proud and stubborn.

Really, with all there similarities you'd think the races of the continent would get along, instead they refuse to see past the differences.

" _I hang wards and bones to try and chase humans away. Yet you bring them too me._ " The potion master complains. Perhaps the man only speaks Elder.

"The bard drank a potion that belonged to a witch-" Yennefer started, only for the elf to interrupt with a scoff. So he can at least understand the common tongue.

" _Typical _ taking what doesn't belong to them._ " Deep green eyes fell on him then as the man sneered out, " __ _ can the human not speak for himself?_ "

Oh, yeah, he should really brush up on his Elder, he was missing parts here and he had a sneaking suspicion they weren't too kind. Should probably spend the winter in Oxenfurt so he could go over the books of Elder speak in the library again, seemed to run into a lot of folk who use the language while travelling with Geralt.

"His voice was taken." Geralt grunted in response.

" _I don't return voices._ " The elf dismissed, huffing an agitated sigh, " __ _ Dana Meadbh. Why did you bring the human to me, witch, you know how I feel about them. Nothing but _, _ and trouble._ "

"The human hears everything you say." Geralt growled in his defence, and the swell of warmth from earlier returned. Well maybe not everything thing, he missed a good chunk of that last part, but it was still nice of Geralt to stick up for him.

" _Not you, the sad frilly one._ " Faradin huffed, over his shoulder.

Okay, now he was just being rude.

"Again, the human hears." Geralt says, golden gaze daring the other to keep with his ranting.

Faradin turned to Jaskier then, eyeing him warily, and Jaskier couldn't help but smile as his lifts his notebook for the man to see his best -albeit a quite messy(he always was better at spoken than written)- attempt of [Witcher's right] in written Elder.

Heated green eyes turned to Yennefer then as Faradin snapped out, "You could have bloody said something sooner."

Oh, so he did speak the common tongue.

"Now where's the fun in that." Yennefer purred as she stalked across the room, making herself at home on the plush chair by the window. To be honest she didn't know the bard spoke Elder herself, not that she'd have warned the elf either way.

Jaskier still stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, book in one hand should he need it and other wrapped around the strap of his lute. Adjusting it just a little from time to time, thankful that the broody witcher was still at his side. It wasn't often they both stood so unsure of how to behave in a situation. Sure Geralt was always stiff and kind of awkward when dealing with other people, but this was usually his own element, he thrived around others. Just not so much when he was in the house of someone who'd so far given a rather clear indication that his presence wasn't exactly welcome.

Faradin turned his sights back on him then giving a smile that seemed more strained than welcoming, as he gestured for Jaskier to take a seat on the bench by one of the potion shelves. He slid his lute over his shoulder, placing her gentle by the bench before sitting himself on it. Geralt shifting to stand lent against the wall in the corner near by, arms crossed over his chest as he watched on.

"So, can anyone tell me anything about this potion or am I going in blind?" The auburn haired man sighed in defeat as he picked through, small vials and bottles on the shelf.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, this was a nightmare chapter, I've shuffled and reworded bits at least twenty times and I'm still not 100% happy with it. But I am over it and just want to move on, so sorry if it seem a bit off or doesn't flow too well.

Yennefer had informed the elf of her suspicions of the mystery potion being of long lasting or possibly permanent effect due to the mention of rare ingredients that took decades to source. All the while Faradin plucked vials and herbs from his selves, she regaled everything she'd learnt while they were in Flotsam, embarrassing chickened out orgy and all. Great, he had originally planed to take that tale to the grave, yet in the span of what -two days, three people now had learnt of it.

Mixing two potions into a small vial, the elf gave it a swirl before handing it to the human, "Drink this."

Jaskier did as he was told, thankful there was only a small sip of liquid in side because the stuff was disgustingly bitter. He felt his face scrunch in offence to the taste as a tingly warmth spread through his body, accumulating in the tips of his fingers and toes, as Faradin grabbed his right hand lifting it to examine it. The bard watching on in both fascination and tinge of horror as his nails slowly darkened to a bruise like purple, that had damn well better not be permanent.

"They'll clear in a few hours." The potion expert said as he plucked another vial from his gathered supply "Whatever the effects of this witch's brew are indeed still in effect."

Uncorking a tiny bottle of deep blue pigmented powder, the man shoved it under his nose asking, "Had there been lots of candles in the room, something burning. Might have smelt similar to this?"

And oh wow, did that scent take him right back. That was exactly it, that was whatever was burning in the corner of the room, sweet, musky and oddly soothing. He nod his head fervently in response because the man was right on both counts. The elf let out a hum before asking if there was any sigils, runes or casting circles near the potion. He moved to shake his head but them paused, the table it sat on was carved, but he hadn't really paid much attention to what was carved into it, so he wrote that down for the other to read. Along with there having been bottles and dried plants and flowers scattered around it.

"Hm, involvement of sexual ritual, that certainly helps narrow it down. Won't be needing these then." The potion expert hummed to himself as he put a few vials back on the shelf and fetched another from across the room. A sex ritual? He was very nearly an unknowing participant in a sex ritual. What was with witches and weird sex spells? But wait... he bolted before they even got to the sex part.

Flagging down the elf's attention he lifted his notebook. [No sex. I bolted.]

The guy shook his head once he scanned the words, "Doesn't matter. Well it likely mattered to the efficiency and overall outcome of the potion you drank, but not in finding what it is. The elf swiftly turned back to him then, with with several bottles and vials in hand as well as a large bowl.

"Drink." He ordered shoving a small vial of black liquid in Jaskier's hand, pulling some type of root from a jar and tossing it in the bowl along with a handful of dried something and a dusty liquid.

Jaskier uncorked the vial, it didn't really seem to have much of a smell but he held his breath anyway as he tipped it in his mouth, downing it in a single gulp. Whatever the substance was, it was thick and oily and made his eyes water as it coated his tongue and throat and for a moment he thought of asking what he'd just swallowed. He'd seen some of the things Geralt put in his Witcher potions though, and swiftly thought better of it, chances were he really didn't want to know what that was. What any of this man's potions and tonics were.

Another bottle was shoved at him then with an order to sniff, as the man added another two components to his bowl. The contents looked like ground up char but smelt pleasantly fresh and sweet, and then out of nowhere a sharp sting in his left index finger and he pulled his hand back on reflex, with a gasped out silent hiss. Well tried to pull back but Faradin's grip on his wrist didn't let him pull away. The man had stabbed with a knife, and okay, yeah, it was little more than a cut on the pad of his pointer finger but still, a little warning would have been nice. His finger was bleeding and a glance to the side revealed Geralt had straightened from the wall but the elf was already placing the blade back on the table beside him. His hand was held over the bowl so his blood dripped in to mix with swirling contents inside.

Next a murky green bottle was heated over a candle flame then handed to him with instruction to sip, swirl and spit it into the bowl, this one was equal parts bitter and spicy and made his tongue feel numb and heavy as he spat it in the bowl. The bowls contents bubbled as the man returned it to his work table, drawing out a little of the bubbling liquid with a crystal dropper and dripping it over an old parchment with words muttered in a tongue Jaskier wasn't familiar with. Each drop produced a soft blue lit glow as it hit the parchment, that faded away seconds latter.

Stretching his neck to see, he realised the small splatters hitting the paper emanated the soft glow of light as they formed into symbols. He had no idea what the symbols meant but the elf obviously did, Yennefer likely would too, he thought looking over at the woman sat comfortably on the seat across the room. Who as it seems had helped herself to some tea, sipping away at her drink as she gaze read across the tittles of the books lining the shelf next to her.

Nice of her to offer the rest of them a drink.

"Tell me Witcher," Faradin spoke turning to the Witcher once he was done. "how long have you known the bard?"

Geralt gave his own hum of thought before replying, "A little over a decade maybe." He hadn't exactly been counting the years, but he half recalled the bard mentioning it being a decade while he rattled on during the Djinn hunt.

Wow, had it really been that long? Over ten years and the man still somehow found reason to hang around, he doesn't think anyone has ever stuck around that long before. Usually when Geralt parts ways with someone, even those he becomes acquainted with its usually years before they bump into each other again. The longest he's gone with bumping into the bard again was likely what, maybe a year at most.

The elf looked between the three then, "And I wager there has been little physical change in this time."

Huh, you now that the guy had mentioned it he really didn't look much older than when he'd first met the witcher did he? No complaints of course. A realisation Geralt too had only just come about if his contemplative 'hmm' and scrutinising golden gaze was anything to go by.

"He consumed a potion of immortality." Faradin confirmed, turning back to the bowl in front of him and fishing out the root he'd added to the mix in the beginning. "Though technically it's more a potion of longevity or extended life. You're by no means immortal, you can still die, you'll just age at a much slower rate."

Yennefer set aside her cup as she voiced to the Witcher, "The bard's been following you around for over a decade and you're telling me you never notice he wasn't ageing?" Sending the Witcher an incredulous look.

"I specialise in monsters not humans." Geralt grunted, huh, guess he was so accustomed to the bard by now that he didn't really focus on all the little details. The subtle changes in appearance or in this case lack there of, hell, he didn't even notice when the other got a hair cut(never more than a trim) or new boots until the man was whining at him for failing to noticing.

"And what's your excuse bard, you didn't once question your lack of wrinkles or grey hairs." The witch mused.

Jaskier just shrugged because, no he hadn't really. Well, maybe a little but he certainly wasn't one to complain about a lack of grey hairs. Besides he wasn't that old, he was still quite young thank you very much.

[Good genetics and regular skin care.]

"What all those creams and balms you rub on your face every night like some haughty middle age Toussaint countess desperately trying to cling to her youth." She laughed in return.

Jaskier not dignify that snide remark with anything but a flip of the bird.

"Still, one does not simply gain longevity without cost." Yennefer cautioned, her tone serious.

"Yes, which is why the witch's statement of time borrower is an accurate description," The elf hummed, as he held the root over the same candle he'd heated the bottle earlier with, "One doesn't just gain time from nowhere. Though the how in which that time is gained depends on the ingredients in which the potion is crafter." He pointed out, the root burst in blue flame sending out a thick puff of dark pink smoke before fizzling out leaving a small charred lump.

His next question while spoken to the bard, was voice as though it was open for any to answer. "Do you have an active sex drive?"

He sputtered at that, jaw dropping and eye growing wide in disbelief, because his sex drive was hardly this man's business. Who even asks that sort of thing, really, what right had he to pry into his personal life. He sent Geralt a look that clearly pleaded for him to use his scary Witcher intimidation trick on the guy to make him leave off, apparently said Witcher did not get the message.

"Like some sad overatcive puppy that trails after anyone who gives him attention." Geralt huffed from his corner, and oh, that was clearly amusement in the Witcher's tone.

Oh, well, good to know how he really feels. A sad puppy. A sad puppy! The nerve! Pursing his lips in outrage he snatched up the only thing he had on him that he could throw, his notebook, and pelted it at the golden eyed bastard. He couldn't help that he happened to be a romantic at heart with a lot of love to give. Watching the book bounce off his stupid muscular chest wasn't half as satisfying as Jaskier hoped. He was aiming for his deceptively blank, smug, face. The sorceress across the room didn't even attempt to hold back the snort clearly finding enjoyment in this, as her purple gaze flickered between Witcher and bard.

Faradin, hummed in thought as he dropped the charred remain into a new bottle and set it on his shelf among his other ingredients. His eyes fell to the lute then before he stalked back to the bard. "I assume you feel somewhat energised and invigorated after a well received performance with an audience full of good cheer." He said more than asked, not giving room to answer either way as he pressed his lips into the poet's in a kiss.

Jaskier's eyes flew wide at the unexpected asult on his lips, hands flailing uselessly for a few seconds before his brain caught up enough to guid them into shoving the other way and off him. Because as much as he likes a good snog, what the hell? The guy was all insults and wanted nothing to do with him when they arrived.

Geralt let out a low threatening snarl, the elf was really starting to push his luck. The auburn haired man raised a hand in surrender as he stepped back a couple paces, "Relax Witcher, I was simply confirming my suspicions. The bard gains his longevity through drawing on the pleasure and energy from men and women."

"Ha! like succubi." Yennefer let out an actual laugh, "No wonder the bard has such a reputation as a promiscuous wastrel."

_That,_ was so not true! He didn't... that wasn't... He was not a wastrel and perhaps he fell in and out of love quite easily, but honestly she made him sound like a whore. And he certainly didn't sleep with people just to leech their life from them, he didn't even know that was a thing. Well, he knew it was a _thing,_ he's heard of succubi but he didn't know it was a thing he could do. And he'd tossed his damn book at Geralt so he couldn't even voice his offence on paper; though he was pretty sure his flourish of hand gestures, shifting looks of offence, insult and displeasure likely did a pretty good job at conveying his feelings on the matter.

"Not just sex, he'd draw from all kinds of pleasure, including that of a hyped and merry crowd." Faradin hummed, and Geralt though that would definitely explain why the bard was so annoyingly invigorated after his better received performances.

The elf moved to one of the bookshelves filled with old looking tomes, running his finger along the spines before tapping thoughtfully on one a pulling it free. Opening it and flipping through the pages, pausing when he found the one he was looking for, "Ah yes, here's the one, powdered spriggan claw and the heart and liver of two succubi..."

Jaskier's stomach lurched at that and he actually gagged because that was in the potion he drank. No wonder it tasted so foul. He waved for the man to stop, he did not want to hear what was inside the damn thing. It was bad enough knowing it had practically turned him into a human succubus or incubus or whatever, stealing life from his lovers. Geralt might be okay with ingesting monster parts in his Witcher potions but he as far as he was concerned monster gizzards were not for human consumption.

"Squeamish are we?" The elf asked, seeming rather pleased with himself, "Be thankful she didn't use Bruxa as the main ingredient, else you'd be feeding off blood and human liver."

"Enough," Geralt huffed, the bard was visibly turning a greener shade. Closing the short distance to stand at Jaskier's side, dropping his journal back in his lap and giving what he hoped was a comforting pat on the back. It seemed to have worked a little during the Djinn ordeal, "unless want vomit all over you clean floors."

Faradin grimaced at that, huffing as he snapped the book shut once more. "Fine. I think I can tell you the name of the sorceress you are looking for by the way. I can also tell you your bard was lucky he got out of there when he did."

Jaskier perked up again a little at the news of possibly finding the true identity of the witch, though he still looked a little green. "Go on." Geralt urged.

"Hazel hair, murky blue-green eyes and a single crooked tooth?" The elf clarified and Jaskier gave an eager nod. "Her name's Marzeena she was raised in the Axen Magical Academy, but no longer associates with them. She fell in love with a human and came to me on several occasions trying to track rare ingredients. While I have a regular supply of spriggan claws she was not impressed when I told her she'd best find a Witcher for certain other ingredients or hunt them herself."

"He was ageing but she wasn't." Yennefer stated, one of the down sides of eternal youth and beauty.

If she loved him so much why was she screwing around with a bunch of... oh, the old guy. Ouch, she spent near half a century trying to make the potion so she wouldn't loose him, watching him grow older the whole time; and then after all that he'd gone and drunk it on them. Does that mean... he was rather old he wouldn't have had time for her to hunt down ingredients all over again to make another one. Surely she'd made a big enough batch that she had a back up, that would be the smart thing to do wouldn't it? Why did she leave the damn thing in a glass on a table where just anyone could drink it... proably wasn't expecting a guest to invite himself to it.

Oh, gods now he felt horrible.

Wait... [He was old, why not make him younger not just slow or stop his ageing?]

"That's what the ritual and extra company was for, two energetic young sacrifices to shave off a couple decades. As I said you were lucky you ran when you did." Faradin explain.

Oh, well, he felt far less horrible about it now.

"Either way, at the time she held up residence in south Aedirn. No idea if she still resides there though." The elf turned to Yennefer then, "There debt repaid. If I never see you again, it'll be too soon." and with a rather impatient smile he pointed them to the door.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My gods this fic is getting out of hand, was only meant to be 3-4 chapters long originally but just kept growing, finally starting towards the end now though. Do hope it doesn't feel like it's dragging or anything.

They were on the road again then, well, the beaten forest path anyway, and he was riding double on Roach again. He could really get used to this, they could move quicker and cover more ground with both horses paced at a swift trot, and he got to rest his tired legs while doing so. It was great. He wasn't going to get used to it though, he was under no illusion this new getting to ride Roach mood of the Witcher's would last. Roach would probably tire of it quick enough too.

"Guess we start in Aedirn now?" Geralt voiced, "You better start remembering where this shack was, bard."

"We'll split up." Yennefer hummed from beside them, "Once I can call my portals again I'll sent you two to Aedirn while Ill go ask around the mage world, see if anyone knows where she is, now we have a name."

"Hm." Geralt gave his customary grunt of approval.

Jaskier held his book out, but the slight up and down rhythm from being on horse back and the cautious distance Yen had kept after yesterday, to ensure the bard's feet stay well away from her horse, made it hard for her to read. So instead he tapped Geralt on the shoulder shoving it under his nose. The Witcher gave a grunt of protest but voiced the message anyway, "Bard says, you just want an excuse to leave."

"Oh please, I wanted to turn the other way the moment I saw your face." She sassed back, eyeing him smugly as she said, "So you drank the potion meant for this Marzeena's lover. Should have guessed, you have quite the habit of inserting yourself into other's relationships."

"Are we referring to a particular relation ship here, or should I say lack there of?" That actually was meant to be conveyed as a question, it was just the Witcher's delivery. If the slightly confused pinch in the man's brow was anything to go off he'd say Geralt had completely missed his meaning. The narrow of violet eyes as his own blue flicked purposely between witch, Witcher and back again as he sent the woman a smile that was anything but innocent, let him know she understood exactly what he was insinuating.

"Have you ever been with someone who isn't already taken by another? Or are desperate housewives the only ones you are capable of exciting." The sorceress bit back.

"Have you ever been with someone who wasn't under a spell." Geralt read, giving an exasperated sigh before snapping, "Enough both of you! Jaskier put the damn book away, and Yen quite stiring the bard."

Jaskier reluctantly tucked his journal back in his doublet, poking his tongue out at the witch as she sent him a glare. Though the look of warning the Witcher sent both of them that clearly stated, 'don't make me stop this horse', had them both sitting straighter with eyes forward.

So they continued in mostly silence, pausing once as a herd of deer cut across the path in front of them, looking to be in a hurry. Geralt listening out to make sure there was nothing behind the herd as they passed before starting forward once more. In the silence Jaskier got to thinking again which wasn't always a good thing especially of late, he seemed to be finding a lot of negatives lately like not having a voice. He really missed his voice, the people would too he imagines, if he doesn't get it back soon. Who would bring cheer and tales of excitement, wonderment and adventure to the taverns. Who would the great kings, queens, lords and nobles call to entertain their courts and balls and banquets. They'd have to fall back on second rate hacks, two bit's and the likes, like Valdo Marx.

This witch Marzeena had better still be in Aedirn so they can get his voice back. _'Best pray the sorceress hasn't already used your voice in one of her spells, would be a real shame if you never got it back.'_ Yennefer's voice echoed in his head, and he shook it hard to try and dislodge the thought, they _were_ going to get it back. They were going to find Marzeena and get it back, but then, she'd spent probably over half her lovers life trying to put together that potion and then his stupid ass had to go and drink it. There was a good chance she wasn't just going to hand his voice back so easily.

 _'You took from me something irreplaceably valuable.'_ Those had been her words when she took his voice, _irreplaceably valuable,_ like perhaps the life of a loved one. That had to be why she was so angry, why she hunted him down even after all this time, she lost the man she loved just because he lost his nerves and drank something he had no right to. All because he thought he'd fallen in love with a pretty girl and followed her home, yeah, he can't have loved her too much if he'd bolted just because she wanted to invite a few friends into the bedroom. Then again if you really love someone you wouldn't try and pressure them into something they're clearly not really into, but then she didn't love him, she already had a lover, he just thought he loved her.

Wow Yennefer was right he did have a habit of inserting himself into other's relationships, didn't he? Thinking on it a majority of his relationships as short as they usually are had happened to most often -but not always- unknowingly be with people caught in unhappy relationships. Usually resulting in the need of a swift get away to avoid a beating or worse by their not so happy partner, even giving certain area's a wide birth for awhile till things cooled down. Then again, one can't help who they fall for, right?

While it's great finding out you're going to be young and good looking for some time to come, it meant he could travel around with the Witcher for much longer than he though he'd get to. Hell, it meant he would be around longer to hassle Yennefer with his presence, not that he planned to hang out with the witch too often, but he had to face facts Witch and Witcher were destined to keep bumping into one another. Sadly. On the down side what would happen if he actually found a lover who loved him back and they decided to settle down. Wow that was certainly not something he had planned in the near future, he's having far too much fun adventuring and sharing his music all around the continent. But should that time come then what? Is he destined to watch them age and die like the Marzeena did, could he even be with one partner for a long length of time or who it be harmful to them. What with his apparent talent of leeching their energy for himself.

Who would you even asked about that, the cranky scorn witch who made the potion in the first place? Find a friendly succubus and ask 'oh, hi, so, just curious but what happens if you make love to the same guy on a regular basis'. Or perhaps, "So ever fall in love with someone? and if so are they still alive or did you fuck the life right out of them?'

Then again how did he even know if he's even really loved anyone since then or if it was just the potion. For all he knows it could be the potion that has him falling in and out of love so easily, like a parasite feigning love just so he could feed. God's this whole time he's been leeching his life off others. Surely that makes him no better than the very monsters Geralt hunts.

No. Jaskier gave a shake of his head. He needed to stop thinking, he was over thinking things, all of his past lovers are perfectly fine, he's certainly hasn't left anyone unsatisfied. So he couldn't be causing too much harm, and its not like he's ever intentionally set out to harm anyone, he didn't even know he was stealing life or energy or whatever for himself. It would probably be courteous to give warning in advance in the future, maybe a quick, 'before we get too far, you should be aware I will be leeching energy from you while we do the deed, that cool?' He was starting to think he much preferred being blissfully unaware, sure he'd have noticed something was up eventually when he was like fifty or sixty but still looked twenty. But that would have been a problem for then, and they were far more desirable to current problems. Current problems were a little more in your face.

Urgh, he needed a break for current thoughts, he needed a distraction, and his lute was his best distraction. So tapping Geralt on the shoulder to get his attention he signalled his desire to get down from Roach. Swinging his lute around and pulling her from her case as soon as his feet hit the dirt, taking he usual place of pace near Roach's side as she slowed to a clam leisurely trot.

Geralt watched Jaskier trail along behind them from the corner of his eye, party to make sure the fool didn't drop too far behind and land himself in trouble and partly because he was a little concerned about the other. The bard was being unusually quiet, which seemed an odd thought considering he'd lost his voice so obviously he was quiet, but today it's been different. He would almost go as far to say he seemed brooding, well as broody as was possible with the bard.

While the younger man seemed in higher spirits at the moment, the braids littering Roach's mane would suggest he didn't do much sleeping last night. Which only further added to his concern, at this moment though Jaskier seemed to be back to his usual loud and rather annoying self. The bard seemed to be testing out some new attempt of communication via lute, either that or he was just testing how far he could push his newfound racket making before someone snapped.

It had just started out his usual quiet strumming, a background humm that often sounded in their travels when the other wasn't composing a new song. A soft tune that tried to harmonise with the sounds around them, slowly seeping into something tense and brooding as they continued to travel in silence. Yennefer had joked then that the bard was playing Geralts own personal tune, said bard plucked out a quick sound that sounded somewhat like a hum of agreement. Pointing to Yen next before playing something dark and foreboding, which she found rather amusing.

As the day drew on the lute let out a horrid screech each time either of them said something the bard did not appreciate or agree with, a upbeat sound that resembled a chuckle played when he was amused. Surprisingly Yen had drew that particular sound the most with some of her more entertaining tales of recent ventures. Like the noble that had pleaded with her to cure him of a curse his wife had a mage place on him which caused a certain appendage to shrink in size each time he was unfaithful. According to the sorceress it was so small a toddler could probably put it to shame.

Jaskier had insisted Geralt then share the tale of the hunt he took up for a old lighthouse keep, a harpy having made itself a nest in the lantern room at the top of the lighthouse. The old man was convinced the creature was his old dead wife comeback as a beast to terrorise him, claiming it just the type of thing the wretched old hag would do. Jaskier adding in the odd sound effect here and there when the story suited, and Geralt had to admit the guy did a pretty good reedition of a harpy's cry on that instrument of his.

An obnoxious pitched sound played every time the other demanded attention, mostly when he wanted someone to look at his book and when he didn't get the rest break he requested quick enough the little shit had dragged his feet and played the same note over and over and over untill the Witcher had given in. All in all while yes the bard seemed in high spirits he was swiftly working on the Witcher's nerves, and Geralt had a slight inkling the prick knew it. He swore some days the bard just pushed his buttons like it was some form of game, to see how far he could get.

"Geralt, you really know how to pick them don't you. You're going to be stuck with the bard for decades to come," Yennefer huffed as they came to a stop, "and even without his voice, he's proven just as annoying."

Said bard plucked a noise that clearly stated his offence at that comment and Geralt just let out a breath, "I didn't pick him, he just follows me." Not that he'd ever tried too hard to lose the younger. The damn human just kind of grew on him.

"Okay, well time to split up." Yennefer stated, making a motion with her hand and summoning a portal. Her horse stomped her foot in irritation by the thing suddenly bursting to existence a couple of meters in front, but otherwise remained calm.

"Meet in Gulet in four days." Geralt said, leaving off the whether we find anything or not, though he was sure she got his meaning. Yennefer gave a nod of agreement before pointing out that this was his and the bard's portal, destined for south of gullet, and he, Roach and Jaskier stepped through.

They continued south afterwards keeping an eye out for signs of the nearest town or village, or in the bard's case anything that looked familiar, or hinted they were headed in the right direction. A few hours later it was starting to get darker and Jaskier had fallen quiet again, his lute back in its case and blue eyes no longer scanning their surroundings instead cast down as he slowly shuffled along behind. Turning off the path he started east into the patch of trees, while it would make a good place to camp that wasn't his intention. He could smell smoke on the breeze coming from that direction and it wasn't the smell of a small campfire but chimney smoke from a town.

He wasn't entirely sure what was going on with Jaskier of late but he had no doubts a hot bath and a bed in an inn would soon better his mood. So despite the questioning look he received for not stopping to set up camp as it started getting dark, he continued forward, the town was close, which was good as Jaskier would have to hold the saddle for guidance in the dimming light soon. Cresting a small hill and breaking the tree line, the small town came into view several lanterns already lite for the night, He could smell the tavern from here and the building looked big enough to house rooms above, which was just what he was looking for. There was a stable out front for Roach too, who could really use the break after carrying two for most of the day.

Pointing the town out to Jaskier as he moved to stand beside him, he said, "We'll stay here the night."


	11. Chapter 11

Well that certainly put a spring in the bard's step, as they made their way to the tavern. Leaving Roach out by the trough for the time being they went in to see if the place had a room spare, a town this size out in the countryside the odds of spare rooms were promising. The place seemed lively enough inside, a barmaid made her way around the room with drinks as townsfolk gathered to wind down for the day with friends and drink. A tall man with more hair on his chest and chin than his head stood behind the bar and Geralt approached the man, Jaskier at his side. The man eyed them over gaze lingering on the witcher as he asked if there was a room they could rent for the night.

"As long as you don't plan on causing trouble with those swords of yours," The man signalled to the weapons on Geralt's back, "then, aye, I've rooms. Thirty ducats for a room with two beds, and for an extra five I'll have one of the girls fill the tub."

"We'll take the room and the tub." He stated, pulling out his coin pouch to pay, "You have someplace I can stable my horse the night?"

"I can have my boy stable your horse out back, though it'll cost you another five, it'll have plenty of hay and a bag of oats. He'll even brush it down for you." The man said, eyes slipping over to Jaskier as he addressed the bard, "Tell you what, bard, give a performance and I'll toss in a meal and a drink for the both of you free of charge."

Jaskier waved his hands about with a slight shake of his head, trying to inform the inn keep of his predicament. "He's lost his voice." Geralt explained for him.

"Ah, real shame." The man hummed, "Well offer still stands if you could maybe play a couple tunes on that instrument of yours, been a long time since anyone with real musical talent has passed through town."

Jaskier tapped the strap of his lute giving a thumbs up which both men took as an affermative to playing a couple tunes, before stalking over to an empty table relatively towards the centre of the room. Where he slung his lute over his shoulder resting it on the table to pull the instrument from it's case. Geralt ordered an ale and the glass of the bard's preferred wine before making his way across the room. He'd originally intended to sit at the table Jaskier was setting up at, the bard was currently running through his warm up notes, but the wary glances he was garnering from the other patrons who fell quiet as he passed them had him retreating to his usual spot tucked away in the corner.

He didn't want to distract from Jaskier or sour the tavern's mood, he'd long ago found that people found it easier to ignore his presence if he was tucked away out of their immediate view. Geralt took a swig of his drink as he watched as the bard started on a familiar tune, one he'd heard many times sat around a campfire while Jaskier idly strums at his lute's strings. It starts off slow and calm, gradually building up into something fast and wild before withering back to a still calm, it has no words or title, not yet, the bard claims it just isnt it's time yet but the day will come. To him at least, the music was reminiscent of a hunt, a predator silently tracking their prey before picking up the chase and the inevitable clash before everything stills and calms as the predator settles for it's meal.

The troubadour's starting on his next piece when someone in the small crowd calls, "Sing us a song bard." The barman is quick to voice that the bard's lost his voice before another is huffing mockingly. "What use is a bard with no voice!" and though others in the crowd seem swift in jumping to his defence, one woman shouting, "More than you you drunkard." Another yelling, "Shut up an enjoy the music." While the keep told him he was welcome to leave if he didn't like it. Geralt didn't miss the way Jaskier's shoulders slumped a little at the drunkard's words, his smile becoming just a little more forced.

Though the bard soon shook it off, getting lost in his music once more as the drunkard quieted down and the crowd became more involved in his performance. Shouting out requests for certain songs and some started singing and clapping along to those they knew the words to. Fishmonger's daughter and the drunken whore Francisca both having been played several times now with the crowd slurring aloud the words, even toss a coin got a request even though they only knew the chorus. Geralt was always surprised to see Jaskier's original works spreading even in the small rural areas, by now he should probably be use to it.

Even without his voice Jaskier was proving a hit, he'd even made a little coin for his efforts, not near as much as he usually pulled in but it was still an earning. Though the bard eventually had to take a break, strumming a pitched note to gain the crowds attention before miming food and drink before packing up his instrument and making his way to the table the Witcher sat at. The crowd had seemed a little disappointed but none argued, simply falling back into chatter amongst themselves, some still humming or singing along to the songs no longer playing.

"You certainly know how to work a crowd." Geralt said, sliding the drink he'd ordered for the other over, "They'll be buzzing all night."

The complement seemed to have the opposite effect than desired as Jaskier sunk into his seat, that strange air of silence building up around him as he lifted the cup to his lips and downed the liquid. Unusual and a little concerning, the bard usually adored praise, preening and basking in any complement tossed his way no matter how small. He wanted to question the other try and work out what was bothering him but wasn't sure how, as kind and bumbling as Jaskier might be he jumped on the defensive when he felt attacked or backed into a corner, and delicacy wasn't exactly the Witcher's strong suit.

Then one of the barmaids came over and set down two plates piled with roasted meat and vegetables with a rich gravy and a top up of both their drinks, and he was pretty sure neither of them was thinking of anything but the meal in front of them any more. Both tucking in not wanting their meal to go cold, and damn did whoever cooked here do a great job of it, he'd just finished and Jaskier was mopping up the last of his gravy with half a bread roll when a young lady came over to inform them that the bath was filled.

"You go, take the first bath. I'll go check Roach got settled in." He intoned, shifting in his seat with every intention to do just that, besides he need to bring their gear to their room. A hot bath should do the bard some good, and while when he himself wasn't too grimy the bard often opted for second bath knowing full well he wasn't the biggest fan of washing in the other's floral blend, he figured he could put up with smelling like a field of flowers just this once. "Oh." He pulled a small vial from the pocket on the bag he carried his swords in, "Once you're done fill a bucket with warm water and add a couple drops of this to soak your feet, should heal those blister right up."

At least that's what Yennefer had told him anyway when she'd handed the vial over while Jaskier was trailing behind them lost in tune he'd been playing. Not a potion of her own making, he watched her swipe the little bottle from Faradin's hut while pretending to peruse his book collection, but he trusted she'd not lied about what it was.

A light drizzle had started as Geralt entered the stables, the stable boy having already unsaddled and brushed her down and was just filling her feed bag with fresh oats. Informing the Witcher where he had placed the saddle bags before moving to fuss over an older mare in one of the stalls at the back. Walking over to stroke his fingers down her neck, not entirely sure how he felt about the fact the boy had left the braids in her mane. Not that she seemed to mind, she'd even wore the daisy chain the bard had slipped over her head like a necklace two springs back. Geralt couldn't help but think she perhaps enjoyed being dolled up every now and then.

Roach let out a soft nicker as she poked around his pockets and he pushed her back with a gentle shove, she wasn't going to find any hidden sweets here. "Bard spoils you enough, you're going to get fat at this rate." He huffed in amusement as she gave a snort at his words, turning her head away from him. "Oh, sulking are we?" he hummed and she turned back nudging her head into his chest with a soft huff as he ran his fingers throught her forelock. Her ears perking up as the tavern door opened to a familiar tune, though they flickered in disappointment as the drunk slurring a rather poor rendition of toss a coin stumbled past the stables and down the street.

Her head hung further into his chest and Geralt run his hand down the length of her neck, "You miss the bard's voice don't you. His rambling stories and his songs, don't think I haven't heard him conspiring with you when he thinks I'm out of earshot." She let out a loud snort then, giving him a shove in the shoulder with her nose before lifting her head to give him an expectant look. "All right, fine, maybe I miss it too. Just a little."

"We'll get him back to normal." He assured, Roach giving a rather sure nod of agreement as he pat her on the shoulder before going to collect the saddlebags and gear.

Jaskier was fresh from the bath, hair still damp and clinging to his face, dressed in loose fitting trousers and a simple chemise with a bucket of lightly steaming water in hand, as Geralt returned to their room. Carefully placing their belongings on the table in the corner as the bard set himself up on the end of the bed by the window, adding a couple of drops from the vial he'd been given into the water. Jaskier pointed down at the warm water in the bucket he now rest his feet in before thumbing the Witcher towards the washroom at the end of the hall. Geralt figured he was being sent to bath before the water cooled, judging by the bucket it was likely the bard heated some water to ensure the bath was still warm. The Witcher snatched up a clean-ish change of clothes himself before heading off for a quick wash, the bath was indeed still warm and an extra bucket of water had been left warming over the fire place for him.

He returned to their room five or ten minuets later smelling like a damn flower garden in the middle of spring, to find his companion where he'd left him. Feet in the bucket of water that was likely cooling by now slumped against the wall and staring out the darkened window at the rain that was now beating a steady percussion against the glass. Jaskier's lute lay packed away in its case in the corner and a slight shift of blue eyes was the only acknowledgment he got as he entered the room.

"Okay, bard, what's wrong?" The words came out a little more huffed than intended and he hoped the other didn't read it as annoyance. Jaskier just shook his head patting down his chest before scanning his bed, and Geralt realised the other was looking for his notebook which he spotted in the corner by the table sat ontop of the bards dirtied clothes. Picking it up and tossing it to the other he waited and watched as he scribbled down a response.

[Nothing. I'm Fine.] Blue eyes withered under his own unconvinced golden gaze and Jaskier let out a soft huff before trying to bluff him again. [Tired.]

"Bullshit." Yes, maybe the guy looked like he could really use a good night's rest, but this was obviously more than that.

"This isn't just tired, tired Jaskier is loud," He completely ignored the huff of protest sent, he hadn't forgotten the other hadn't a voice right now. Loud was more than just vocal and the bard knew it. "Complaintive, stroppy -you drag you're feet, huff, sigh and yawn every five minutes because you know it drives me insane and I'll be more inclined to cave, so don't try a repute it, you get stroppy. You've been odly somber of late and I've never seen you so downcast after a performance, not to mention you didn't even blink at the barmaid who was eyeing you off all evening. Since when does the humble bard turn down the chance to flirt with an adoring fan or potential lover."

[Maybe I'm just not in the mood for stealing life tonight.]

Now they were getting somewhere. It would certainly explain why he'd seemed so despondent at the mention of the crowds revelry. He had a sinking feeling where the bard was leading with this, and he was wrong. "Jaskier."

The look that drew from the other clearly spoke the bards usual response to his name spoken like that, with a deadpanned "Geralt." It was odd, he'd heard the response so many times over the years that he heard it clear as day despite it not being spoken, yet he'd only just now realised it carried it's own look.

"This is about what we learnt this morning." He heaved out a sigh, trying to get his words in order, "It's obviously more than just that but it's a good place to start."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt learn's talking involves a lot more actual talking when the talkative one can't physically speak. Luckily he's learnt a trick or two for dealing with silent partners from Jaskier himself over the years.

Jaskier pulled his feet from the bucket, bringing his knees to he chest with a sigh as he glare out the dark window at the rain once more. Great he was being difficult, why was it the man kicked up a fuss over any little inconvenience yet clammed up when things were serious. Like that time the bard down played a rather nasty gash he received from a wraith that had almost slipped past him on a hunt once, until he had smelt the infection setting in and Jaskier was forced to let him check on it. Or the time he walked on a sprained ankle for half a day because he was too stubborn to admit he'd hurt it when he'd tripped on a tree root, then couldn't walk on it for two days.

"Jaskier." He urged, the bard just gave a fake yawn before shifting to pull back the covers.

Dark smudges had taken place under the bard's eyes leaving no doubt that the man was tired but if he thought he could just crawl into bed and ignore this he had another thought coming. Geralt sat himself on the bed on top of the covers before Jaskier could peel them back enough to get in, which earned him an unimpressed look. Typical really, the guy never shut up untill you were actively trying to get something from him, it was like getting blood from a stone.

_'Really, Geralt, how do you expect me to help if you wont talk to me.'_

_'Whats going on Geralt? Talk to me.'_

_'Words, Geralt, use your words.'_

_'I'm not a mind reader, Geralt, I need words.'_

This must be how the bard felt when dealing with his own lack of verbal communicating, trust him to find and befriend a man who could be just as stubborn as he was. Well, he'd just have to use the bard's own words against him, "Words, Jaskier, use your words." He tapped at the notebook left at the end of the bed for emphasis before handing it over with a look that refused argument. Jaskier heaved out a put upon sigh, shaking his head in defeat as he slumped back onto the bed. Though Geralt didn't miss the slight upturn of his lips at having his own words used against him as he took pen to paper once more.

Geralt sat patiently so the other could put his thoughts to paper, by the looks he had a lot.

...

[I just found out I'm a monster, Geralt.] The first line read and he turned to the bard, "Jaskier..." Jaskier just tapped at the page in his book, urging him to keep reading, though he already knew despite whatever the bard had written those first words were still wrong.

[I've been a monster this whole time, I've been hurting people for years, people I was supposed to love. Don't get me wrong, I've no complaints over the whole lack or wrinkles and greys, the slowed ageing is great, on my part. It means I can still keep up with you when, really, I suppose I should be slowing down. I'd rather been dreading that actually, becoming too slow and getting left behind, I know how much you hate dawdling and as the years rolled on I wasn't exactly getting any younger. Turns out I wasn't getting much older either. But my eternal beauty comes at the cost of others, my adoring fans and extensive lovers, but were they lovers, Geralt, I've always thought I loved each of my partners, be it lasting, fleeting, or violently stamped out by an angry cuckold.]

Oh, there was so much he could say in response to that, but it was probably best suited for another time.

[But what if it was never about love, what if it was always just about feeding off their life force or whatever this is, maybe they were nothing but victims this whole time. Maybe I flirt and work up a crowd to my own gain and when feeding off crowds isn't enough I take people back to my room to sate my need and add to my life pool. How am I supposed to feel good about working up the spirits of a crowd now, knowing what I'm doing to them, how can I take someone to bed. What if I hurt some one? Worse, what if I kill someone? Yen said it herself I'm basically a human succubus, their monsters there are tales of them murdering men with pleasure. I suppose if I did end up really harming or even killing someone at least you'd be here to make sure I never do again. I guess I'd fall under the silver category now.]

"First of all I won't be killing you, even if at times I feel like throttling you." Geralt stated, knowing had the bard been his usual self right now, he'd have certainly made some form joke out of that, likely a bawdy one at that.

_'A werewolf's howl during a full moon, is heard as far as six miles away.' 'Oh, hoho, dear witcher, they all howl loudest during a full moon.'_

_'I just want to be left alone to polish my swords in peace.' 'Perhaps you should let someone else polish your sword once in a while, might make you a little less cantankerous.'*_

"Secondly you're not a monster so steel still stands." It was meant jokingly but he second guessed, not wanting Jaskier to take it the wrong way(as in I'll kill you with steel not silver) and ended up swiftly adding, "Not that I'd ever draw it on you. Because you're _not_ a monster."

Jaskier in return scribbled a thick line beneath the words human succubus, as though that somehow canceled out the witcher's last statement

"Hmm," He grunted back, "emphasis on the human." He gave a sigh, deciding it best not to correct the bard on the fact a male counterpart of a succubi was an incubi, he knew how easily the other got sweept off topic on tangents. Instead he shifted to face the bard, "Jaskier, do you know how many succubi I've been faced within my years on the path?" He's yet to cross one while travelling with the bard, thankfully, before his current crisis, the fool would likely have jumped at the chance to plough a succubus. Jaskier peered up at him from where he was slumped against the pillows holding up three fingers, which shifted to five then four with a shrug, and Geralt let out a snort.

"Lucky guess. Four, and out of those four do you know how many I needed my silver for? Only one. She was murdering women, wanted the men of a small village all to her self. She held no remorse and had no intention to stop killing any woman who dared approach the village. She was an exception though, Succubi are not violent by nature. They feel no desire to kill, don't crave blood and though, yes, they can harm people and on occasion even kill, they usually mean no harm at all. On occasion one might draw upon energy from their-" he stopped himself short of saying victim, he didn't want the bard thinking of his lovers or partners as victims as he'd no doubt the man held some form of feelings for each of them and they were all openly willing. "-from people to the point of exhaustion or death, but very rarely is it intentional. On rare occasions they can simply get a little too caught in their pleasure and lust."

"That said, you are still human, you just happen to have their ability to draw on energy from pleasure. You wouldn't hold near enough stamina to truly harm someone."

Jaskier seemed to take offence at that, a challenging glint in his eyes and a slight puff of his chest and he was scribbling down. [I'll have you know I have a plethora of stamina, just ask that lovely blonde in we met in Vizima's outskirts.]

"No need, with my enhanced hearing I couldn't not hear the two of you going at it." He groaned, he'd gotten very little sleep that night. There was a reason he didn't like the other bringing nightly partners back to their room. "What I'm getting at is you're not stealing their life as you put it, even though it adds to your life pool. You're just borrowing a little energy, nothing a simple nap wouldn't fix. If anything after a well met performance physical or musical, they likely just have a pleasurable evening followed by the best sleep they've had in days."

Well that was certainly a relief, Jaskier thought as he let out a shuddering breath. He wasn't harming people and Geralt didn't think him a monster, and Geralt knew monsters better than anyone, so he'd know. Drawing his bottom lip between his teeth he glanced back up at the Witcher before committing himself to paper again. He'd never had problem with speaking or asking potentially dumb or embarrassing things while just flippantly rambling durring their travels, so why should now be any different. Besides the fact he knew he had Geralt's full and undevided attention at this point which wasn't something he was often granted.

[So I do love, you know the people I think-feel I love. It's not just some effect from the potion, right? Like I dunno, some kind of succubus hunger pain tricking me into thinking I like someone so I'll draw on their energy.]

Geralt's brows rose as he read the words and as he looked back to the bard he huffed out, "It's love you idiot. Though I can't say I've ever met another who falls in love so carelessly as you do." There was the slightest of upturns on Geralt's lips as he said that, and he whent on to say. "Besides Succubi are capable of love too, I knew one who was in love with a Sylvan."

"But this isn't the only thing that weighs on your mind is it?" Geralt asked, though he already suspected he knew what it was. "You miss your voice."

Missed was a bit of an understatement, Jaskier thought as he gave a nod, his voice was his life, his passion. He loved singing, he loved his voice, he's always been a chatter box for as long as he could remember. [Though I'm sure you're enjoying the blessed peace.]

"You do know what me and Yen said was just joking around right?" There was something in that low rumble that had Jaskier's chest growing tight, he hadn't ment for those words to have been taken as petty, though they kind of were. He knew they'd just been teasing, Geralt had even been vigilant enough to put a stop to it whenever he felt they might be on the verge of taking it too far and now there was a undertone to the Witcher's voice that was almost contrite and it just made him feel worse. Becasue this wasn't Geralt's fault, none of this was and the man didn't deserve to feel guilted by his teasing -which he knew was meant in good intent- just because he was letting his own thoughts get the better of him.

Gods Geralt had good patience having to wait every time for him scribble his words on paper, and wasn't that half the problem, his hands couldn't seem to keep up with the thoughts piling in his mind. Not like his mouth could, hell, sometimes his mouth seemed to work faster than his mind, shooting words out before he'd had a proper chance to access whether they were wise for the current circumstance or not. He'd landed himself many a bruise thanks to that.

[Sorry, this isn't about anything you or Yennefer said. Or at least not really. ~~It's just~~ It's me, some times my thoughts just... I don't know, build and pile onto top of one another, and it all becomes too much. I can try to distract myself with busying myself, cleaning, playing or tuning tuning my lute, jotting down notes, braiding your horse's hair, but my voice has always been my greatest outlet. I try and work the building thoughts or feelings into songs or just speak them in rambling tales and idle chatter. Without a good outlet they just keep building and building and then certain thoughts or words can start to catch and dwell and turn against me. Twisting even well meant thoughts or words into something they're not, and even when I know it's a lie they just continue to push and weigh down until I start to grow doubt.]

Geralt read over the words before turning back to him with something akin to understanding, concern and uncertainty. The Witcher wasn't sure what to say, how to respond and Jaskier didn't blame him, he himself didn't really know how to get rid of the-the everything building and swirling within him. His voice was gone and strumming his lute just wasn't cutting it this time around, even the bath -which he usually finds completely relaxing- had done little to help.

"Does- Have you always been..." Geralt stammered at a loss for how to best approach this, how to help the bard with issues that are apparently in his own head. He let out a sigh, these were not the type of monsters he knew how to fight, but the other had mentioned his ramblings usually helping to ease his thoughts, "What about this?" he asked, gesturing to the words scrawled on the page, "Did this help? Writing it down I mean, it's not exactly the same as talking but..."

The bard gave a nod that toppled into a shake as he wrote, [Yes. No. I don't know. Gods, I just want to fucking scream and I can't even do that!] A light tremble had worked its way through his body and his bright blue eyes were wet with unshed tears as his hand found his hair, fingers curling tight in a grip that can't have felt pleasant. The younger was exhausted, wound, and hurting all at once.

"How about hitting?" He suggested instead, Jaskier may not be able to scream but he could still punch. It may not be the bard's usual method of copping but Geralt always found a good spar or monster hunt helped him unwind when he was feeling tersely frustrated, tense, or just plain lost in his own thoughts -though that last one was best delt with friendly sparring then taking on a potentially fatal beast. It helped clear his mind and vent his troubles with out the need to talk or express himself.

Jaskier gave him a confused look then, scribbling down. [I don't think the tavern owner would appreciate me starting a bar brawl, not to mention I'd rather not receive a black eye or broken nose.]

"I'm no suggesting you get in a fight, just puch something."

Jaskier glanced around the room then, what was he supposed to hit then the wall? [Don't fancy a broken hand.]

Geralt gave a 'hm' along with a huffed out breath before getting to his feet and squaring his shoulders, arms to the sides as he suggested, "Hit me." The younger just gave an odd look at that, making absolutely no move to get up so Geralt reached forward pulling him to his feet by the arm, holding his arms out in offer once more.

Jaskier couldn't help the slight upwards pull of his lips at the Witcher's request, this certainly wasn't a situation he ever expected to find himself in. A Witcher stood before him in nothing but leather pants and a simple black shirt requesting he hit him, it was absurd. Still, he fisted his right hand and struck Geralt in the chest, not hard just little more than a love tap, to which Geralt gave a grunt of disapproval as he insisted, "Harder."

So he hit him again putting just a little more force behind it, Geralt was his friend and he couldn't say he'd ever made an effort to strike a friend before, he didn't want to hurt him. "Harder." Geralt ordered, the hit not effecting him in the slightest, the guy didn't even flinch. He did as he was told, though he really didn't see how hitting someone he didn't want to hit was supposed to help. Still the Witcher wasn't impressed, Geralt heaved out a sigh before saying, "You're supposed to be channeling all the negative into this, now hit me like you mean it."

He swiped the note book from the bed then, [I don't want to hurt you.]

"You wont." Geralt scoffed back as though the very thought was absurd, and okay that helped a little in driving his fist into the other harder still. Because he wasn't so weak and defenceless that he couldn't at least give the man a good bruising if he'd wanted. Sure he may not have Geralts muscles of steel but they weren't that different in size. Still he held back, just because he was certain he could leave the other with a nasty bruise should he want to, it still remained that he did not wish to do so.

"Not even a bruise." Geralt taunted. So thats how they were playing it now, he struck again, pouting a little as the other just scoffed at the effort, then once more only to receive a snort of "Pathetic." And oh, that one seemed to have a little more effect. Dredging up past frustrations from times his father had spat that word at him. Geralt actually flinched at that punch.

"Come on, you want that filling-less voice back or not." Well if the Witcher was looking to get hit hard, that one certainly did it. Though perhaps not exactly in the way Geralt had been expecting.

_'Like ordering pie and finding it has no filling.'_

_'Think I like him better this way.'_

_'What use is a bard with no voice.'_

It certainly had him releasing some of that pent up negativity, as he saw red for just a moment, only in stead of hitting Geralt in the chest as he had been, he brought his knee up. Catching the Witcher square in the gut and bringing a right hook around clocking him in the jaw as he doubled over with a half grunted, "Fuck."

Ow, bloody hell that hurt, Jaskier cursed internally as he cradled his hand against his chest, not near enough to have broken anything but damn Geralt had a strong fucking jaw. Geralt! He stumbled back with a gasp, he hadn't meant to do that, oh gods, he rushed back to Geralt's side, hands fumbling about as he tried to check him over and a soundless apology on his lips.

Geralt for his part just groaned out, "I knew that pie comment irked you more than you let on." as he slowly straightened himself, a hand still rubbing at the tender spot on his stomach. Seeing the somewhat horrified look on the bard's face, he just let a smirk show on his lips as he huffed in amusement, "Guess we can call that one even for when I left you in the dirt outside Posada."

That earned him a slap to the shoulder from a half pouting half amused bard, "So, feel any better now?" Geralt asked as he straightened his shirt before moving to the unclaimed bed and sitting on it. Jaskier used thumb and index finger to gesture a small amount. A little. Okay, so it didn't improve the bard's over all state completely but it was a good start.

Said bard flopped back on his own bed before flipping his journal open. [If we don't get it back?]

Geralt had a suspicion this is where the majority of the bard's negative mood had stemmed from, the foreboding fear of what his long lived future would hold should his voice prove irretrievable. His voice was was his career, he made a living through singing and playing, it was his passion, Jaskier's voice was a big part of his personality, he was always talking or singing or humming. He isn't really the same with out it.

"We will get it back Jaskier." Geralt assured, only to have the words 'you don't know that' thrust back at him, and he gave a snort at that. "We will, we will find Marzeena and we will get you're voice back and if she doesn't have it anymore we'll find another way to get it back. I'll hunt down another damn Djinn if thats what it'll take, but I swear to you we'll get it back." And he meant every damn word of that, even if it took years he would stop at nothing in finding a way to help get his bard's voice back. For all his past grumblings of wanting peace, he was starting to really tire of not hearing the constant that was Jaskier's voice. "Now get some sleep, the earlier we set out come morning the sooner we can find the witch."

Jaskier did as he was told, laying in bed to try and get some sleep as Geralt did the same blowing out the candle light as they both settled for the night. He lay watching the patterns flicker across the roof with the flash of distant lightning and listened to the far off drumming of the thunder as he try and fall asleep. His eyelids were just starting to droop shut when he heard the quiet rumble of Geralts voice, "You're worth more than your voice, Jaskier, and the next person to suggest otherwise will meet my fist."

The words were spoken so softly that for a moment he wasn't even sure he'd heard them, and his eyes flicked over to find the Witcher laying still on his side, back to the bard as though he'd not uttered a word. Those words seemed to succeed in lifting more of the heavy and unwelcome cloud that seemed to have settled over him than winding Geralt had. Though he had too admit it did feel kind of good, after the filling-less comment, both of them. The Witcher continued in his act to play asleep, so he layback himself a small smile finding him lips as he closed his eye.

All the Witcher's claims of them not being friends, ha, who was Geralt kidding.


	13. Chapter 13

After a mostly good night's sleep, that involved a rather bizarre and somewhat entertaining and slightly disturbing dream. In which they'd found Marzeena and got his voice back, only something went wrong during the reacquisition of his voice and instead of getting it back himself his lute somehow ended up with it instead. And boy was his lute mouthy, swore like a sailor and vulgar enough to make even whores blush, all the miss adventures and close shaves his not so darling lute got them in with her tossing insults and taunting. And a hearty breakfast they were on their way again and Jaskier was in far better spirits than recent days.

The town had not proven familiar so after asking the tavern-keep to mark down the nearest towns in the are on a map, they set off south to the next nearest village. He had his lute in hand strumming a merry tune and a spring in his step, whatever the stuff Geralt had given him for his feet had worked wonders the blisters were but feint pink marks now. He'd been sure to carefully tuck the little bottle safely wrapped in a sock in his bag, for next time. The tune his fingers played on the strings took on a more adventurous and heroic tone as they continued down the road in the dappled morning sun. Golden eyes slid to him as the Witcher mused, "Composing your next song?"

He swung his lute over his back in exchange for his journal, [Yes actually, it's about a simple bard who bested a mighty Witcher.]

"Reverted back to songs of fantasy I see." Geralt snorted, looking back to the path ahead and Jaskier put on a mask of overly dramatised concern as he stuffed the page back in the other's line of sight.

[Surely the blow wasn't so hard you've forgotten last night already.] And oh, how fast that false concern was replaced with a smug smile. Geralt just let out a grunt, rolling his eyes as he quickened his pace, Roach looking between the two as if trying to decipher what was going on shaking her head with a snort as she lost interest.

[Bested you.]

'Not even close." Geralt gruffed back, giving the bard a shove when that smug face came into view again, a shove that accidentally sent the man toppling sideways. Not at all his intention but at least it wiped that smug grin off his face, Jaskier however just let out a huff as he got back up, giving Geralt a harsh slap to the arm as he dusted of his pants leg.

"You're a lot less slappy when you can talk." The Witcher pointed out, rubbing his arm for show, the slap itself barely even stung. The bard conceded then on his whole insistence of having bested a Witcher.

[Did wind you though.] Geralt just gave a small, "Hm." with a tilt of his hand in a so-so gesture, as though it was up for debate. Jaskier just gave a scoff, hand moving to his stomach and hunching over in a replicate of last night, before adding his own dramatic drop to his knees.

"Don't let me dampen your delusions."

...

A few hours later they settled by a small pond for a break at the bard's request, the village they were headed for was only another three hours walk, they should make it there by mid-afternoon. Geralt just hoped they had a cobbler so they could get Jaskier a new pair of boots, or attempt to repair his current ones, though he was pretty sure they were past being patched up. At the current rate they had to break twice as often as usual to rest the bard's feet. Said bard was off at the ponds edge fussing over tadpoles as Geralt worked at undoing the tiny braids in Roach's mane, leaving crimped hair in there stead.

"I don't think thats good for them." He voiced, half watching as Jaskier crumbled a bit of old stale bread on top the slightly murky water for the tadpoles to eat. The poet just pointed down at the creatures crowding and swarming the crumbs, sticking his finger in the water and grinning as the tiny black tadpoles nibbled at his finger pad. The Witcher just shook his head, just because the things were eating it didn't change the fact it wasn't a healthy part of their diet.

Soon enough they were back on their way, Roach's mane now back to its usual braid free style, even if the bard would argue it wasn't a style. Farrowed paddocks and fields of golden wheat signalled they were approaching the village, and the distant baaing of sheep somewhere behind the swaying wheat. Then another sound blew in on the breeze a strange sort of growl and Geralt held his hand out to signal they stop as it sounded again this time a little closer. Jaskier shifted to stand behind the Witcher as rustling broke out in the wheat field to their left and Geralt handed him Roach's reigns as he drew his sword. Stepping forward just as a ghoul leapt out onto the path in front of them, taking a swipe at the White Wolf as it rounded on him.

Roach scuffed her foot in unease, flicking her ears as she huffed out a breath, but the bard's hand running up and down her neck soon calmed her as Geralt made quick work of the single ghoul.

"Hmm." The Witcher hummed as he sheathed his blade and retook Roach's reigns, a contemplative hmm, Jaskier noted. Apparently the man found something of interest in that single ghoul, peering down at the ugly-ass dead beast as they passed it he found nothing of particular interest. Just looked like you're regular run-of-the-mill ghoul to him, he was just glad only one jumped out at them not the whole pack. Huh? Okay that was a little odd.

He tapped Geralt on the arm holding up a single finger in question when he had his attention. Geralt just gave a nod, "Not sensing others close by. I might have work in this town."

That would probably be good, this whole getting his voice stolen had kind of distracted from well, both of their work, he hadn't made near as much as usual with his songless performance last night and Geralt hadn't been contracted for hunts. They could probably do with the coin, they've been spending more than they've made the past couple days.

The village soon came into view, it was a little bigger than the last, with a small market and a herbalist. Geralt had found work the moment they stepped into town, upon recognising him as a Witcher one of the farmer's had dragged them to the alderman's house where he was hired to clear out a number of ghouls that had made a nest in one of the western fields. Alderman offered good coin too for a ghouls nest, apparently they had settled in drawn by the corpse of a cow that had been killed by wild dogs. A couple of villages had managed to hunt the dogs down but then the ghouls moved in and over the moth or so they've been there they've killed two sheep and another cow.

The man had told the beasts had started drawing closer to the town, sighted slinking about the butchers hut at the edge of town during the late hours on more than one occasion. Fearful that the monsters would soon grow bold enough to start attacking people the townsfolk had been more than happy to pool coin for the creatures to be taken care of. So Geralt had left on Roach to slay the pests while Jaskier had been left to purchase a pair of boots fit for travel, not that he held any complaints otherwise. He'd seen plenty of ghouls and he was in dire need of new boots, plus while he enjoyed strolling through markets and gawking at the wares and goods for sale, they weren't really Geralt's thing. Too many people and gaudy trinkets, the Witcher had complained once.

He was planning to try and procure a room for the night before Geralt opted in favour of camping but to his dismay he found the building that had housed the towns inn/tavern had burnt down a week past. The charred remains had yet to be cleared to rebuild and while the proprietor was still serving drink from what was once a storage shed, there was nowhere for travellers to rest the night. Not even an empty stall in the stables, he'd asked. Oh well, at least he got his boots, and boy were they comfortable after spending so long walking the countryside with worn soles and thinned leather. He no longer felt every tiny bump in the road under the soles of his feet.

He was at a baked goods stall when Geralt found him, a paper bag in one hand and almost empty coin purse in the other as the baker slid over a second parcel. Picking up his goods his eyes caught on a fancy looking tart on a tray at the corner of the counter, with latticed pastry berries and cream, but he was dragged away by the back of his collar before he could point it out to ask after it.

"You'll get fat." Geralt snorted as he was released a safe distance from the tempting baked goods. Jaskier let out a scoff of offence at that even though he had a pastry half stuffed in his mouth. He couldn't help having a weak spot for baked sweats. He pulled out one of the blueberry scrolls, as a peace offering to show he hadn't brought them all for him. He'd noticed over the years the witcher tended to favour blueberry flavoured treats. Said Witcher accepted the scroll with an appreciative hum, as he also showed the other the small ginger nut cookies he'd brought for Roach.

Though admittedly he had purchased the majority for himself, gushing over a flower shaped pastry with raspberries baked into each petal like twist of dough before popping it in his mouth whole. He didn't notice the not at all subtle roll of golen eyes at his over stuffed cheeks as he try to chew the thing.

"So this place seem familiar at all?" Geralt questioned, and Jaskier gave another look around their surroundings, before shaking his head in the negative. Sure he likely would recognise the tavern he spent four days preforming in more than anything and the one here was burnt down which made it harder, but nothing else looked particularity familiar. Then again most small farming villages and settlements looked kind of the same to him, but he was fairly certain he'd never visited this one before.

They set out again the next nearest town was about half a days walk east, so they'd get a head start before camping the night and if that proved no leads then they'd head south to the village marked there. Jaskier just prayed one of them jolted his memory on how to find Marzeena's hut or turned up the witch herself, otherwise they'd be forced to halt there search again. Return to Gulet and hope Yennefer managed to find something useful, four days seemed like a long time when they'd first made the plans to meet back in Gulet, but now reaching the end of their first day of searching four days seemed alot shorter. They couldn't just call forth a portal so the last day would be spent travelling back north to Gulet, four days was a long time without his voice but not at all a very long time to find a witch in a vast rural area he barely recalls.

He collected wood and started a fire while Geralt head out in hopes of snagging one of the wild geese they'd seen pass over to settle by the river not far off just before the stopped for camp. Once the fire was going he lay down their bedrolls and removed Roach's saddle and bags, slinging them over a nearby log. He then set about trying to find the bag of baked goods Geralt had confiscated earlier claiming he wasn't going to let the bard gorge himself sick on pastry again. Honestly, eat one too many tarts one time and the Witcher holds it against you for life. Roach had even helped nuzzling about their belongings, she'd only gotten one of the ginger nut treats after all, and he knew she had smelt the remaining ones still in the bag. They both came up short. Damn, Geralt had obviously been wise enough to stash them on his person.

He plucked out familiar tunes on his lute as the goose cooked over the fire, Geralt spoke softly to Roach across the camp as he brushed the dirt and sweat from under her saddle rug. He couldn't actually pick up any of the Witcher's words they were spoken to quietly, just the baritone of his voice. Geralt sent him a slight look of concern as he stepped back over to where he sat, golden eyes flicking down to his lute then back up to him in a silent question of 'you okay?'

He looked down at the instrument finding his fingers had stilled in their strumming, he hadn't even noticed. Too caught up in listening to Geralt's voice as thoughts of the night before had stirred, he didn't know the man was capable of talking so much in such a short period of time until then. It was nice, he knew Geralt cared for him, they were friends after all, but the guy was rough round the edges and pretty damn guarded most of the time. Nowhere near as open as he himself was, so it was always nice when the strong prickly Witcher showed he cared, let him glimpse his softer side. Right, Geralt was probably worried he was dwelling on the negatives again, which he wasn't, really, even though he really, really missed his voice.

[A raspberry tart would make me feel better.] He scribbled in his journal along with a childish drawing of a sad face. Unable to hold back the smirk at the roll of golden eyes as Geralt gave him a playful shove that almost knocked him of the log he sat on, before stalking off to check on the cooking goose. Jaskier took that as a clear sign he'd not be seeing the baked sweets he'd purchased with his own coin again until tomorrow, damn Witcher.

They left early the next morning, making their way to the next town without any surprises jumping out at them. They did pass a few other travellers on the roads though, a wandering merchant with his cart of supplies, the bard's eyes had lit up at the sight but they were in no need of supplies and he'd wasted most his coin on sweets yesterday. A hunter headed into the woods for his son's first real hunting lesson, and a couple of farmers looking to trade some of their harvest with wheat farmed by their neighbour town. They were forced to pause for a while much to Geralt's dismay so Jaskier could fuss over an overly friendly hound that had bounded over to them from a small flock of sheep it was no doubt meant to be guarding.

The town proved just as unfamiliar as the previous, he could see it in the way Jaskier deflated just a touch as they entered the local tavern. In bright blue eyes that frantically search the interior for anything even remotely familiar, growing dimmer as they failed to find anything. He rested a hand on the bard's shoulder, giving a small squeeze as he felt him deflate further and nodding them out the exit once those eyes were focused on him. Best not linger too long, as much as he'd like to be able to stay and let the younger shower himself in the comforts he so enjoyed to indulge in it wasn't yet noon and if they hoped to check the next place on the map before they're to meet back with Yen they had to continue on.

He did however fish out two of the pastries he'd confiscated from the bard yesterday before he could make himself ill, feeling a little foolish in doing so. Like bribing a child out of it's tears with candy. Only this was Jaskier and the fool acted like a damn child so often he really shouldn't have been surprised by the way his eyes twinkled and a smile lit his face as he snatched the offering up, getting flakes of pastry all over his doublet as he took an oversized bite of the cinnamon knot. A huffed snort had his hair tickling his neck before Roach's nose was shoved into his shoulder and handed over one of the ginger biscuits with a shake of his head. Damn bard ruined his horse, she was never this spoilt before he came along.

Clouds were gathering over head the next day, though thankfully it didn't smell like rain any time too soon and the town they were headed for was just over the next crest. He could smell it and several pillars of smoke could be seen rising above the hill, and a roster could be heard crowing despite it being well after noon. They were travelling down a rather rough and twisty path that cut through a thicket of trees that shaved a mile off there walk. Jaskier had his nose half buried in his journal jotting down gods knows what, he'd started off jotting down random observations or thoughts he wanted to share before he stopped sharing his scrbbled words. When he'd asked if the other was working on a song he'd received a contemplative look before the other wrote, [Ideas for a possible memoirs, I was thinking I'd call it the Lark and the wolf.]

Wasn't the first time the bard had worked on said memoirs, though the title changed every time he spoke of it, his first attempt had been lost in the bottom of one of some duchesses closet after her father had found the bard hidden inside and chased him off. The second was was burnt when Jaskier accidentally tossed it in the campfire while flicking out his bedroll. So there was a good chance this one wouldn't last long either, just like the bard mightn't if he didn't start paying attention to where he was going. There was a slight thonk as the poet's boot hit a twisted upturned stump root and he toppled forwards.

"Watch where you're fucking going." Geralt growled out, more out of fear than anything. It was only because he was already focused on the man beside him that he'd managed to grab hold of the back of his stupidly bright doublet halting his fall just moments before he could hit the dirt and impale himself through an eye with his damn pencil. Yanking Jaskier back to his feet, the bard's look of shock turned bashful at being growled at, before his eyes narrowed and he was glaring down at the stump. Giving it a good kick that likely just hurt his foot more than anything, then he was suddenly crouched over the thing, shuffling his hands through the dirt and weeds as though searching for something.

Roach turned her body, full attention on the bard's odd behaviour apparently she was just as confused as he was at Jaskier's sudden interest in the dirt. Only blue eyes soon turned upward as the troubadour twisted his body so he was lent back looking up at the branches above them, looking over his shoulder towards the direction of the town they were headed for, back at the leaves and then at the cluster of trees and scrubs to their left. He was on his feet again without warning and taking off into the trees, Geralt barked out his name as he started after the bard. They were on a path he realised as he guided Roach through the bushes that had half grown over it's entrance, narrow and a little over grown but still easy enough to guide his horse down.

"Jaskier!" He shouted once more as the bard half tripped through the next bush half grown through the pathway and he heard more than saw him skid to a stop. Pushing branches back and out of the way for he and Roach he soon saw why, Jaskier was paused by and old weather wooded worn hut, there was no smoke coming from the chimney but the well manicured garden filled with herbs and flowers suggested the place was not abandoned. Jaskier himself was staring intently at the hut with wide blue eyes as he caughg his breath and even though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer Geralt asked, "This the witch's hut?"

The bard's eyes flitted to him then as he nod in response.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well after a depressing couple weeks of wrestling with writers block shit be rolling again and I'm back with what is very likely the seconed last chapter.

Leaving Roach by a full water pale near the garden they entered the hut. Inside was small a single room and a single doorway to their right which looked to lead to a storage room. Not many places for a witch to hide, not unless she'd disguised herself as a broom or table. The living area did look as though it was still used though the way dust coated some things more than others, it looked more as though she frequented the place time to time than actually lived in it.

Geralt didn't particularly feel like stating the obvious, Jaskier had likely come to the same conclusion he had anyway, so instead he peered into the store room. You never know where a cellar door could be hidden. Nothing. Turning back he found the bard by the far wall running his hands frantically over the wood panels. Spinning to face the Witcher he pointed to the wall as he held the open page of his notepad to him.

[Door. There was a door.]

Golden eyes scanned the wall, noting the furniture to each side, though nothing sat in the middle not even a decorative wall hanging. The floor was slightly more faded in front of it too, worn down by use. Giving a hum in thought he walked up to the wall, his medallion vibrating as he drew close. The bard was right there was a door here, it was just hidden. "Do you remember her saying anything odd, something in elder or another language?"

Jaskier shook his head, he didn't recall her speaking anything in another tongue, though he was rather distracted at the time by the clashing of lips and tripping into and over furniture. Geralt gave another "Hm" as he moved to inspect the shelf next to the wall, "Must have a physical trigger then."

Oh, so they were looking for some sort of trigger or device to reveal the door, Jaskier looked around the room, he hadn't actually seen her activate it. Wasn't sure if she had or if it had already been there when they arrived, he had been too preoccupied with other matters. Like the woman's hands swept under his doublet as they roamed over his chest and back, her nails scratching at his skin through his thin chemise and her soft lips on his. Gods he'd barely paid any attention to his surroundings too focused on the pretty woman who'd dragged him here, maybe if he tried retracing there movements from that night.

Stalking over to the familiar shelf across from the entrance that had left a rather nasty bruise on his side all those years ago. Maybe if she had shifted, triggered or activated something there. He searched the shelf, shifting bric-a-brac and running his fingers under shelf lips and drawers for any hidden contraptions before moving to the chase. Searching the cushions and carved wooden frame, besides a few coins a very mouldy dried and withered thing that was possible once a grape? or maybe a berry? It was disgusting whatever it was, the chase turned up just as empty. Then a soft whirl and a buzzing crackle sound had him looking over his shoulder to find a soft glow drawing the outlines of a door into the wall. Geralt must have found whatever revealed the door as the shifting glow faded away to reveal a door now cut into the once flawless wall.

The following crack that sounded was almost deafening in the quietness of the shack as the Witcher kicked open the door so hard it almost came of its hinges. Jaskier hurried across the room to follow Geralt through the door, a slight shudder running through him at the odd sensation as he stepped through the threshold. It was vaguely similar to the portals Yennefer used to jump them around the continent, only this was more a light flutter than the stomach lurching pull of Yen's portals. Wow he really did miss a lot when following his little bard, how had he missed that the first time around. Stopping still as he walked into the familiar bedroom, besides a lack of burning candles and incense in burning in the corner, and a fresh change of bed linen to match the season it looked exactly as he recalled it.

There was no doubting this was definitely the witch's house.

Geralt's gaze swept the room, ears listening intently for any sounds that might indicate the sorceress was nearby, checking that both connecting rooms were unoccupied before turning back to the bard. "Come on lets try and find your voice, if luck is on our side we might actually get to avoid an encounter with this witch." The way Jaskier brought his palm up to meet his face had Geralt raising a brow, and the bard lifted his book.

[You've jinxed us.]

"Shut up and look for a fancy bottle or box. Anything that looks like it could hold a voice." He huffed, shooing the bard towards the selves he stood near as he was given a questioning look. He was a Witcher not a witch had no idea how one might store a stolen voice, he'd never had to retrieve a stolen voice before, bottles and boxes seemed like a good enough place to start. He lingered a moment to make sure the bard turned to do as he was told before starting his own search, starting with the dresser and stand by the bathroom doorway. Shifting through all manner of oddities, from perfume and oils, a small box that contained human teeth both children and adult and a collection of be-spelled talismans.

He could hear Jaskier shuffling through objects across the room, opening containers, shaking bottles and flicking through books for hidden objects. Geralt however wasn't so sure what they looked for would be hidden, she'd taken the bard's voice as some twisted revenge for transgressions well over a decade old. She'd put in enough effort to hunt him down all these years later, disguise herself and lay in wait at the tavern where he was preforming to lure him away. She hadn't dared approach him while Geralt was still there, she'd made sure to catch his eye from a distance drawing him to her, only luring him away from prying eyes once the Witcher he was with had left the building. No, it was far more likely that she would have the stolen voice displayed somewhere like a trophy of sorts. Spotting an hourglass shaped glass vial emanating a shifting blue glow by a vase of flowers on a nearby shelf he moved to take a closer look, the dull chill that ran through his fingertips as soon as he touched the glass was enough to tell him it wasn't what they were looking for.

The bard's voice held warmth there was no way something that chilled to the touch could possibly be his, they may not know exactly what they were looking for but he was certain they'd know it once they found it. A loud thud followed by a clutter had his head snapping in Jaskier's direction, finding the bard staring wide eyed down at a small open wooden box he had obviously dropped at his feet. A slight tremble ran through his body as blue eyes remained glued to the ornate carved bone dagger on the floor by its box.

"Jaskier?" He questioned in concern as he stalked back over to the bard, he needn't ask what was wrong as the trembling fingers brushing the hair thin silver line on Jaskier's throat was answer enough. It was obviously the blade that had been used on him to remove his voice. He placed a hand on Jaskier's shoulder to help still the trembling -recalling how the other had described the witch's asualt, how he'd felt the blade slice deep through his neck despite the barely there mark left behind- before scooping up the blade and box.

He found nothing out of the usual as he turned the blade over in his hand, no tremble or pull of his medallion, no hum of power thrumming through his finger pads. No sign that the voice may have remained locked inside it, and the box that cased it proved just as ordinary, until his eyes fell upon the odd shaped indentation that sat empty in the padded silk lining as he placed the knife back in its place. Perhaps whatever had sat there contained Jaskier's voice. Geralt had been so distracted by Jaskier's distress at finding the blade that had been used against him, that he didn't hear the approaching footsteps untill they were right by the door next to the bathroom across the room from them. He had checked that room, poked his head in when they first entered, he'd not seen another door leading anywhere from it but should have guessed there could have been another hidden just as the one they'd entered.

He caught a glimpse of red and gold and long dark tussled hazel hair, before both he and the poet where backwards flung across the room with a powerful wave of magic. He hit the wall with a grunt, hearing the breath leave Jaskier's lungs as he too hit the wall a couple feet away, pinned in place by Marzeena's magic. He try to reach for his blade, hand wrapping around the hilt before she caught sight of him and with a flash of teal eyes, a flick of her wrist and a tut of disapproval his hand was frozen in place. Fucking brilliant. It was then his eyes caught on the pendent worn around the sorceress's neck made of silver and crystal, though it was the soft flickering golden glow that was glittering inside the glass in a swirl of constantly shifting pulses that he was drawn to.

It was Jaskier's voice, there's no mistaking it, it had to be. Even contained in it's silent crystal prison it seemed to continue on in endless chittering.

"I must say I'm surprised you even remembered where to find me, little bard." Marzeena cooed, though there was a clear hint of annoyance hidden in her tone. She was clearly not impressed with their intrusion, either not expecting them to have hunted her down so quickly or simply not expecting them at all. "You seem to have built quit the reputation for whooing women over the years, surely it must be hard to keep track of them all."

Jaskier seemed rather oblivious to the undertones in her words as his large puppy dog cornflower eyes seemed completely enthralled with the beautiful face before them, flickering down at her red painted lips on more than one occasion as a dopey smile crept upon his lips. The same dopey smile the young fool got whenever a pretty face had him smitten. Fucking idiot. The witch had them pinned with her power, she was wearing the fools voice around her neck for Melitele's sake(had Jaskier even noticed), now was not the time for the bard to be thinking with his cock.

Movement snagged Geralt's attention as he realised the bard still had enough freedom over his arms to write in his book, no doubt very messily consider he couldn't really look at the page. Holding it up for the woman once he was done, Geralt couldn't read the words from where he was but they seemed to catch Marzeena's attention, an intrigued lift of a slender brow and she slowly swayed over to him. Pausing just inches from the bard, the sorceress hummed, "Oh. Is that so." and just like Jaskier craned his neck forward to press his lips to her's and Geralt was lost.

Was the bard looking to tick shag-a-vengeful-witch off his conquest list or something, because honestly it was starting to look like that was his intention as Jaskiers hands moved ever so tentatively onto the woman's hips. Her own slender hands found the poet's chest and apparently that was that. They were on. Kiss deepening as their hands roamed the others bodies despite the fact Jaskier's back was still glued to the wall behind him. Geralt's nose scrunched a little at the display as Marzeena's fingers nimbly worked open the buttons on the bard's doublet, Jaskier's own fighting with the lace on the witch's bodice. Yeah, he did not go through all the effort of the past few days just to watch Jaskier fuck the damn witch, infact he'd much rather wait in the next room or better yet outside with Roach.

He was just about to voice just that when just as quickly as they'd started the frantic clashing of lips and frenzy of fingers stilled, Jaskier's breath hissing through his teeth in pain as the woman's hand tightened around the bard's right hand twisting it up and away from her with a sneer. Nails digging into flesh as she twisted the hand awkwardly at the wrist and Geralt watched as the pendant tumbled from the poet's finger tips, landing back against the sorceress's breast with a soft fap.

Ah, he was trying to get to the pendant containing his voice.

Ow, ow ow, well that didn't work, Jaskier thought as the witch twisted his arm painfully, he couldn't even shift himself to try and relieve the pressure. He was so close too, he'd felt it pulsing and resonating through his finger tips. He should have gripped it firmer, yanked at it harder, sooner, anything, but now he'd blown his chance and Marzeena was not at all impressed. Blue-green eyes flashed that scary bright teal(though not near as scary as flashing purple) as he felt the grip holding his hand and wrist tighten violently threatening to either crush the bones in his hand or just out right snap his wrist, causing his eyes to water. Probably best he didn't have his voice as he was sure he'd let out a whimper as he brought his free hand up to try and pull the witch off him but she was surprisingly impossible to budge.

"You didn't really think I'd be fooled so easily, did you?" She sneered up at him.

Well, he was hopeful. He wasn't exactly a hundred percent sure of his plan but it was still worth a shot and it nearly worked. He was kind of hinging on Geralt having a plan now cause he was all out and to be honest she was really starting to scare him. A not so friendly smile crept across her face, one that really made her slightly skewed tooth stand out as she purred mockingly, "You haven't changed at all have you? You're still the same foolishly naive boy I lured in all those years ago, I found it endearing then, now though, not so much. Think just because you have a Witcher at you're side you could just march in here and take back your precious voice?"

He sent Geralt a pleading look as Marzeena cackled, because right now would be a great time for Geralt to do... well, anything really. "Maybe you should have found a better Witcher," she continued, "What help is this one, I mean I lured you in and stole your voice right under his nose, he wasn't there when I held my blade to your throat, didn't come when you called out for him, the last word you spoke before I took your voice. For all your songs of heroism praising Geralt of Riva, it would seem in reality he makes for a rather worthless hero-aargh."

The sorceress spiel was cut short as Jaskier's head met her's and oh gods did head-butting someone hurt, he just hoped her head was hurting as much if not more than his right now. She was a girl, he didn't hit girls, it was cowardly and indecorous. He knew he shouldn't but fuck it the bitch had stolen his voice and now she was bad mouthing Geralt, so he'd thrown his head forward into her's as hard as he could. Besides she was a witch and therefore the more powerful one of the two. And oh gods, she was going to break his wrist, ooh, she was definitely going to break his wrist for this.

At least that's what he was expecting, instead she held out her free hand, waggled the fingers whispering something under her breath and in a flash of silver the knife Geralt had dropped when she flung them across the room was in her hand. The tip of the blade pressed firmly against his sternum and he herd Geralt let out a low growl as she said, "Perhaps I should have just gutted you, would have saved all this trouble."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew this turned out nearly four times the length I'd originally thought, but here we are at the end hope you all enjoyed the ride.

Geralt had been hoping to use aard on the woman, he still had enough movement in one hand to make the sign and aim it her way, but he couldn't not while she held the bard's wrist as she was. The attack would be enough to not only fling her across the room but also disorientate her enough to break her hold over them, the problem was if he used it while she still held Jaskier the force as she was flung back would surely break his wrist.

Then she was bragging about swooping in and snatching the bard's voice right under Geralt's nose and he had to hold back a growl because while she directed her mocking to Jaskier it was clear the taunt was also intended for him. When she mentioned the bard calling out for him when her knife was at his throat, that Jaskier's last words before she sliced the blade across it was a call for his help, something cold and tight pulled at his chest. Jaskier had failed to mention that when retelling the events of that night and Geralt didn't like the feeling that settled when he found out the bard had called out for him. It was somewhat similar to the guilt muddled dread he felt when Jaskier had started choking up blood after the Djinn, when they found out he could die, only not as strong.

It was foolish, he wasn't the poet's bodyguard and Jaskier was a grown-ass man despite his frequent displays of immaturity, like his childish tug-of-war with the Djinn's bottle or the way he sulks when he doesn't get his way. It wasn't his job to watch the other twenty-four seven, Jaskier was capable of making his own decisions and doing his own thing even if it often landed the bard himself or the both of them in trouble. Still maybe it wouldn't have hurt to at least meet or even just pass the woman the bard was fawning over, just to suss her out, make sure he wasn't about to follow something sinister off into the night, like a hungry vampire or a lycanthrope or as it turned out a vengeful sorceress. His medallion would likely have detected the illusion she spelled to disguise her appearance.

He hadn't expected the painful thwack that sounded as Jaskier's forehead met the woman's successfully cutting her words short. It had to have hurt for both parties, the witch stumbled back half a step with a curse, unfortunately the move hadn't knocked her grip from Jaskier's wrist. Geralt watched as the momentary gleam of triumph in those blue eyes turned to horror as with a flash of magic she had the blade pressed to the bard's sternum and he did let out a growl of warning not that she paid him any attention, he shifted his hand ever slightly ready to aim the attack at her as she whispered in Jaskier's ear.

"You just looked so sad and pathetic with those big pleading watery blue eyes of yours and I decided to spare you. They always were my weakness, you'd probably recall that beautiful blonde had very similar eyes. I learn from my mistakes however, never make the same one twice." and then she lent forward to capture the bard's lips in one last kiss only to meet his cheek as Jaskier turned away from it, in disgust. Geralt's gaze remain glued to the knife, he may not have a choice, if it meant saving the bard's life he'd happily risk snapping Jaskier's wrist.

Better a broken wrist than a knife through the chest.

Thankfully it seemed he didn't have to, as the witch pouted at the bard's response, mocking, "What's wrong? I thought you found me captivatingly beautiful?"

"That was before he saw what lay beneath." Yennefer's voice sounded cooly as she stepped through the same doorway Marzeena had when she'd entered. The new addition to the room startling the hazel haired witch enough that she let go of Jaskiers hand and Geralt sent her flying with a blast of aard the second it was released.

Marzeena was sent tumbling across the room with a cry, cursing as Yennefer latched onto the pendant with her magic, snapping the cord it hung from as her pull brought it to her own hand. "It was spoken clear in his eyes, any half decent sorceress could see that." she grinned smugly at the crumpled witch. Geralt straightened himself as he stepped forward, drawing his sword more as warning than anything -surely Marzeena was smart enough to know when she was clearly out numbered. Catching Jaskier by the arm to help steady him as he stumbled forward on unsteady legs as the witch's hold broke.

"Catch!" Yen called, tossing the pendant to the bard who fumbled the thing, juggling it between his hands three times before finally securing it in his hold. Drawing a half-exasperated sigh from the violet eyed sorceress at how someone who's fingers were so nimble and coordinated when plucking a swift-paced tune on a lute could be so damn uncoordinated other times, as she informed him to pop the stopper in its top. The golden swirl of light in the pendant flared brighter in the bard's hand as he worked the tiny cork free, springing free as soon as it was removed. Swirling around Jaskier's arm in a glitter of gold before swooping up his chest and seeping back into the faint sliver of a scar on his neck.

Geralt's attention was drawn away from the golden light of Jaskier's voice as it faded into the scar and back to Marzeena as she picked herself up off the floor. Dusting off her red and gold gown with a growl, "You didn't have to fling me across the damn room. I was just toying with him, I wasn't actually going to kill him, I'm not a monster."

"Though apparently you were happy to try and use me as a sacrifice when we first met." Jaskier scoffed back unsympathetically, his pout shifting to shock and then glee as he realised the words had come out as spoken words. His voice really was back! It sounded a little rough, but that was probably because it had been cramped in a tiny crystal prison for the best part of a week. He was just about to state that he had it back in rejoice, even though it was clearly obvious to all but Marzeena cut him off with a roll of her eyes as she said.

"And it would have been a very pleasurable death."

"Oh, right, yeah. Good, yeah, that makes all better, except for the fact that I was a human sacrifice!" Jaskier intoned incredulously, arm spread wide to convey his disbelief.

The brunette scoffed at this, "That was at least a decade ago, get over it."

Jaskier was gearing up, Geralt could see it in the way eyes flashed and his chest puffed out, and with a small grunt of frustration -because for the time being the witch seemed in an agreeable mood and the last thing they needed was Jaskier gaining her ire again, he grabbed the bard by the scruff. Pulling a small "Whaa." from the troubadour as he pulled him to heel, thankful that seemed to distract from whatever it was the other was about to retort. "You have your voice back and the sorceress has her life." Geralt directed to the witch with a pointed look that he hoped would warn her off causing further or future trouble. He wasn't really in the habit of granting third chances, be they monster or man. "Let's go."

"Oh, no." Marzeena spat, eyes flickering a bright teal as her features set into a fierce glare, "You don't just get to march into my home and take from me then be on your merry way. He," she growled pointing to the bard, "doesn't get to intrude and take from me, not after he's already stolen so much. Not only did he steal the potion of immortality I spent half a century crafting and sourcing ingredients for but he cost me the life of my love."

"I thought it wine." Jaskier argued unhelpfully, "I'm sorry I drank you vile potion but claiming I stole the life of you lover seems a little dramatic, I mean he was what six decades old? Witches may live ridiculously long lives but most humans only live seven maybe eight decades if their lucky, he pretty much lived a full human life..." withering a little under the witch's heated gaze he finished, "j-just saying."

Yennefer cut in then sounding rather bored with the whole ordeal, "You really shouldn't blame others for your carelessness and lack of foresight. You shouldn't have left the potion laying around where just anybody could take it, and in a wineglass of all things, and you should have brewed enough for back up should something befall the first, plain and simple."

"I'm no fool, of course I had another potion." Marzeena hissed back, sending the raven haired sorceress a patronising look as she flicked her long hazel waves back over her shoulder. "I'm much older than you girl, so do not presume to accuse me of amateur mistakes."

Yennefer merely blinked, refusing to be riled by the other woman as she pointed out, "Well then, if you had a second potion the bard's actions were really little more than a minor set back, hardly worth a decade long grudge and certainly not worth making an enemy of a Witcher. It would take little effort for you to pick up a fool eager to follow you home from some tavern I'd wager, or just hire a whore or two to replace the sacrifice you lost."

"He was the love of my life, we were supposed to spend the rest of our lives together." The red clad sorceress hissed furiously, "I didn't go through all that effort just to pluck my sacrifices at random, it took time to carefully pick out the perfect pair to craft the perfect spell." She pointed his way then and Jaskier couldn't help but step back and to the side a little to better shield himself behind the Witcher. He really didn't like the glare she was sending him, it was very nearly on Yennefer's level of scray. "He was to be perfect, then it to all fell to ruin because of that cowardly cad."

Geralt huffed a breath before suggesting, "It wasn't just about reducing his age and extending his life was it? You sought to remake him in the process."

Jaskier looked between Witcher and witch, he didn't entirely know what Geralt meant by remake, he had some idea on what the Witcher was implying, but how does one even remake a person it certainly didn't inspire any pleasant images. Geralt had been remade from a boy into a Witcher and the man hated to speak on the topic, clammed up and become testy any time the topic was brought up.

Marzeena on the other hand looked rather proud of herself as she said, "Why settle for second best when you've the power to create perfection. Genny may not have been much to look at when your little bard saw him but in his younger years he was built much like you Witcher all tall muscled and broad shouldered. A thick head of gorgeous dark curls, brilliantly blue eyes, he was great in bed, though could do to last a little longer and a little lacking in the romance department. There was room for improvement."

Yennefer hummed in consideration, raising a perfectly styled brow, "You choose your sacrifices based off traits and talents to craft your ideal partner."

And Jaskier did not like the way that hum sounded suspiciously like a curious student eager to learn more. Yennefer had better not be getting any ideas, scary-ass witch or not if ever tried to change Geralt she'd have a fight on her hands. A fight that would be highly in her favour yes, but he could get quite nasty when he wanted, in fact it'd been said he fought with all the grace and vigour of a feral cat. It may not have been a compliment, but the man who'd said it had been rather banged up with blood spilling down one side of his face and a very nasty bite on his arm, and had practically screamed for Geralt to restrain his bard.

Sure Geralt could be stubborn and moody, antisocial and tended to lash out rather than deal with his emotions like a grown up, but he was his best friend and Jaskier wouldn't change him for the world. Well Geralt could stand to compliment or even thank his best friend a little more but otherwise. As though reading his very thoughts, Yennefer's violet gaze bore over catching his own before giving an unenthused roll.

"Unfortunately Genny was left scarred after catching the pox as a boy, which is why I chose the blonde. She may have been a common whore but I wanted to grant him her flawless skin, flexibility and seemingly boundless sexual energy." The teal eyed sorceress admitted, "And I chose the bard for his beautiful voice, talented skilled fingers and romantic dedication. Soft serenades, flowers, complements and all around desire to please, I must say I did rather like the way the sappy little prick chased after me like a love sick puppy." Crossing her arms, she let out a bothersome huff, "I couldn't very well continue with half my ingredients having run off, and it could have taken years to find new ones to my liking, so what choice did I have but to scrap Genny and start fresh. I wasn't going to waste the last of my potion on anything less than perfection."

"Ah!" Jaskier scoffed in indignation, hands moving to his hips as the tended to go in show of his offence and utter disbelief, "Oh, oh! And here you have the nerve to accuse me of being the reason you lost the love of your life as though I'd practically driven a knife into his very chest with my actions. 'You took from me something irreplaceable', those had been your exact words when you stole my voice, as though you had any claim to it. Irreplaceable, ha! If was so precious to you you wouldn't have just cast him aside as soon as things weren't going your way. Were he the love of your life as you claim, you'd have been content enough just to have him by your side for the rest of your lives. Knock a couple of years off extend his life and live happily ever after. If you truly loved him you wouldn't need change him, you'd love him despite his flaws!"

"Perhaps," Marzeena said flatly, unfazed by his rant, "but I'd have loved him more without them. I'm a sorceress, bard, I don't have to settle for second best, and I'm not going to. I'll craft my perfect love eventually."

"And when you do it will be without the bard's voice." Geralt rasped in annoyance, he was done with this. No more talking, either the witch relented gave up her desire for Jaskier's voice or any type of retribution on the bard, because as far as he was concerned Jaskier owed her nothing and let them free, or he removes her head from her shoulders. Either way they were leaving. Now.

She took heed of the threat in his voice this time, giving in with a frustrated, "Have it your way then!" turning to scowl at Jaskier, "Gods, if they talked as much as you do it would be nothing but a curse, anyway. So take your damn voice and never return." All but screeching as she pointed out the door he and the bard had ented through, "Now get the fuck out of my house!"

Well, she didn't need to tell them twice, they were all more than happy to oblige. Gathering outside with roach who had wandered over by the tree line to chomp on a fresh patch of red clover. Where Jaskier had thanked both Witch and Witcher for helping him get his voice back, swiftly revoking his humbled gratefulness for Yennefer's aid when she had scoffed "You'd better damn be, you are in debt one favour now, bard." Geralt hadn't missed the playful hint hidden in her tone, though he held no doubt she call upon the bard the minute she found need to call upon that favour. He wouldn't put it past her to lord it over him whenever they crossed paths till it was repaid.

"Where did you come from anyway?" The bard had asked as they got ready for Yen to portal bard and Witcher back to the village they had first met her after Jaskier had lost his voice.

"Novigrad, she has a small dwelling there that has a door leading to wherever it is her inner chambers dwell. I wouldn't be surprised if her bathroom had hidden passage to Oxenfurt or Vizima or some other town."

"I certainly hope not." Jaskier breathed a shiver raking up his spine, "Oxenfurt at least, I'd really rather not bump into her next time I visit the college."

Geralt nodded his own thank to the sorceress as she opened their portal, knowing full well he too owed her a favour for her help. Giving the bard get moving with a helpful shove before leading Roach through it, the poet rounded on him the moment the portal closed, arms spread wide in welcome and a face splitting smile on his lips. "Ah, it is good to be back! These last few days have been absolute torture, how I've missed this glorious voice. Cursed witch does she no realise locking this wondrous voice away as she had was a travesty, an outrage, a- a out right crime! It is a gift deserving to be shared with the world, to deny the good people the chance to hear my singing is a crime against humanity. For who else would bring them cheerful crowd pleasers, rowdy tavern hits, breathtaking or heart stopping ballads packed with adventure and action and awe, love songs that could make even the burliest of men weep-"

"-I'm sure they'd survive." He huffed with a just a hint of smirk, he couldn't help but tease when they younger man was plying such dramatics.

"Oh come on, you missed my voice too." Jaskier grinned crossing his arms over his chest and cocking a brow. "Admit it."

"Maybe." Geralt replied, though the beaming grin his confession brought had him backtracking as he continued past the bard to try and find Roach a stable for the night. "Just a little bit, tiny, think grain of rice." He held one hand up thumb and finger pressed so close together the leather of his gloves was practically touching as visual reference.

"Ha, sure play it down, I see straight through you." Jaskier scoffed, half jogging a step to catch up to the Witcher's side. "It really is good to have it back. Oh! Speaking of, you would not believe, I had the strangest dream last night..."

He may have spoke to soon.


End file.
